


Secret Picasso

by toriosaurus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Family Drama, Fluff, Getting healthy, Goth!Cas, Humor, Jock!Dean, Light Angst, M/M, Painter!Dean, Past Drug Addiction, Relapsing, Self-Acceptance, Shipper!Meg, Shipper!Ruby, Shipper!Sam, Slow Build, Smoking, Smoking Addiction, Swearing, Tattooed!Cas, Triggers, baseball player!Dean, basically everyone is Cas' friend groups ships destiel, painter!Cas, punk!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1697495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toriosaurus/pseuds/toriosaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cliché at Kripke High School was, at it simplest form this: Dean Winchester, and his clique of jocks, hated Castiel Novak, and his clique of goths.  The two would get into fights about anything and everything, anywhere.  It has stayed that way for four years and didn't look like it would ever disappear until the two ring leaders graduated, and never came back into contact.<br/>But then senior year hit for Castiel and Dean, and they found their paths intertwining in ways they never believed was possible.  After a chance encounter in an art room, the cliché is blasted to smithereens.  For their last year of High School, Castiel and Dean find themselves defying every stereotype and label ever received, to try and make things right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The cliché was this: there were two different ends of the popularity spectrum at Kripke High School, and both sides hated the other. On the far right side you had Castiel Novak with his group of “friends”. “Friends” is a nice way to put it as most everyone couldn’t stand each other. They were notoriously rumored and known for causing trouble on and off school grounds. No one knew if all the rumors spread were true, but everyone was too afraid to ask the “King of the Goths” if it was.

That’s another cliché Kripke High School had, they had a school goth. Castiel Novak fit that description to a tee. He had unruly dark brown hair that never stayed down; sometimes it would fall in his eyes, sometimes it would shoot up, but most of times it was all over the place, never set in one fixed direction.

He already had piercing blue eyes that challenged anyone and everyone who walked in his path. The eyeliner Castiel loved only illuminated them and deemed his glare as intimidating and frightening. There was also never a time when Castiel wasn’t wearing his black leather jacket. The long sleeve shirt underneath changed daily, but the leather jacket was always the same.

On the far left side of the Kripke High popularity spectrum you had your typical jocks. The kids who ruled the school and made everyone else feel inadequate. The kids who seemed to be annoying most of the time, but everyone still loved.

At the very top of the popularity spectrum stood none other than Dean Winchester. Dean was one of the best athletes Kripke High ever had to offer. Ever since Dean was a freshman he was on the Varsity Baseball Team and continued to improve his game up until his senior year. He was a talented player who seemed to have everything, the skill, the looks, the charming personality, you name it, Dean had it.

That is why Castiel Novak hated Dean Winchester. In Castiel’s opinion Winchester has everything, and what he didn’t have, he had the cockiness to fake that he did. He’s a dick to everyone that isn’t in his screaming fan club, or maybe that was just to Castiel’s side of the spectrum. Either way Dean Winchester was a real dick to Castiel.

This is what Castiel was thinking about as he made his way down the hallway and to the stairwell for his final period, Advanced Drawing and Painting. With his messenger bag slung over his left shoulder tight, Castiel continued to stride his way down the hallway, eyes focused down trying to get Dean Winchester off his mind. Instead, he tried to remember all the details he wants to add today to complete his archangel Lucifer painting by the end of the midterm of the first semester. Castiel is transported out of his thoughts of golds and reds, when he slams into a hard force that causes him to stumble back.

Castiel quickly opens his mouth to apologize until he sees just who he ran into. Short, fluffy, golden hair, bright green eyes, uncontrollable freckles, and the pink lips with a smirk set upon them, are in front of him. _Dean Winchester,_ Castiel thought, _of course it had to be Dean Winchester._

“What’s the matter Slowvak,” Dean said with his low voice, “have a problem apologizing to your superiors?”

Castiel then pretended to look around before his eyes met the slightly taller teenager’s in front of him. “If any of my superiors were here I would be apologizing. All I see is you, Losechester, and I see no need to apologize when it was you blocking the entire hallway,” Castiel replied with his gravelly voice.

“Clever nickname, Slowvak. How long did it take you to come up with that one?”

“Probably less time than it did to come with a false nickname like ‘Slowvak.’” Castiel could see Winchester’s group of friends behind him snickering as he said this, “Contrary to popular belief I’m not an idiot.”

Dean was about to open his mouth to shoot something back, before Castiel pushed him aside to finish the trip down the stairs to his art class. Quickly Castiel made his way down to the basement and through the narrow halls to his classroom. Once arriving Castiel slung his messenger bag over a stool towards the back of the classroom before he retrieved the piece of artwork he was working on yesterday after school. Once he dragged the easel over to his already claimed stool, Castiel unveiled his art. For the first five minutes of class, Castiel just stared at his painting of the archangel Lucifer.

He looked at what he completed yesterday and nodded approvingly. Before last night all Castiel had done was the basic sketch of Lucifer’s body. Now all the lines were heavily painted over in clean strokes and the face and neck were beginning to be filled in. Castiel decided last night that because Lucifer was not just any angel, but Satan himself, he would need to show destruction and depth to his character.

In order to do so Castiel came up with the idea that the only way for an angel to roam around in the mortal world would be for that angel to possess a human as a “vessel”. Lucifer, of course, is a very powerful and special angel that cannot be contained by just any vessel. He would need a pure and true vessel that could contain all that he was. Castiel decided to take the approach that Lucifer had a vessel, but not his true vessel. That way he could show Lucifer’s power breaking through this poor possessed man.

Soon enough Castiel got lost in his work. Just like yesterday after school, Castiel continued to fill in the body of Lucifer. He got through painting the skin tone and was about to begin shading the left side of Lucifer’s face as the final bell rang, signaling school was over. As Castiel’s classmates covered their paintings and stowed all their art supplies away, Castiel began shading Lucifer’s face, unfazed by the school bell.

“Castiel,” a feminine voice said behind the young artist at work. Castiel turned his head and was faced with his art teacher, Ms. Barnes, before she continued. “Can I trust that you’ll have this classroom locked up like yesterday? There’s only one other student coming in after school to work on an assignment, but I trust that you can find a way to shoo him out to lock this place up by five thirty, got it?”

Castiel gave a quick nod of his head before taking the classroom keys and setting them on top of his bag. Knowing that he was alone, Castiel removed his favorite leather jacket, unbuttoned his sleek gray long sleeve shirt, and tossed both items of clothing down next to his bag. All he was left in after that was a white undershirt and his skinny jeans.

One of the disadvantages to having a tattoo cover the majority of his back and shoulders required Castiel to wear a long sleeved shirt at all times. Occasionally he would wear a short sleeve shirt to see how long he could last, but more often than not, by second period he was in the office. Then Principal Singer would demand for Castiel to either go home for the rest of the day or change into something with longer sleeves.

Soon enough Castiel was lost in his thoughts again. With the early October breeze light against his back and the paint from his fingers slowly creating what he wanted on canvas, he was in his own personal heaven. Of course the peace and quiet didn’t last long when a pair of loud footsteps echoed louder until they suddenly stopped. Honestly, Castiel probably wouldn’t have recognized another person’s presence if it wasn’t for the low voice that spoke his name, “Castiel?”

Castiel’s body snapped back to be faced with none other than Dean Winchester. Of course, the one person coming down to finish a project had to be Dean Winchester. Castiel didn’t understand why Winchester seemed to be flustered until he realized he was in nothing but an undershirt and jeans, right.

“Hello, Losechester,” Castiel said nonchalantly before turning back to finish the shading, and begin the burn-like sores on Lucifer’s vessel’s face.

Dean still seemed dazed as he pulled up his own canvas up to the stool right next to Castiel. He seemed to follow in Castiel’s footsteps and shrug off his own brown leather jacket, so he too was stripped down to a short sleeved shirt.

Castiel looked over at Dean briefly before his eyes settled in disbelief at his painting. Dean also seemed to take the assignment of angels in a different approach. Dean’s painting had a fierce black business woman looking sternly out of the painting, seeming to challenge anyone to say negative about her. The woman’s body and face were filled and shaded in, but the out stretched electric blue wings behind her had only just begun. They seemed to illuminate the whole painting; Castiel understood why Dean needed more time to work on his masterpiece.

After taking in Dean’s painting Castiel dragged his eyes back on him. He caught Dean staring at his own painting and felt a light blush begin to rise on his neck, no one really knew that Castiel was an artist, and for Dean Winchester to know… It seemed like almost certain death.

“Dean,” Castiel said intrigued. At the mention of his name real Dean looked back towards Castiel. “Who is your angel supposed to be?”

Dean looked a little surprised that he was having this conversation with Castiel Novak of all people. He licked his bottom lip before answering, “I decided to do the archangel Raphael. But, in all the lore angels are described as having no set gender and no set face, however we always see them portrayed as men, right?” Castiel gave Dean a small nod before letting him continue. “Well I decided to paint Raphael as a badass business woman. Just as hardcore as the lore says, all wrapped up in a woman.”

For the next few seconds Castiel didn’t say anything back, but instead laughed. Not a hollow laugh he gives when arguing with Dean, or a fake laugh he gives around Meg and the others in his friend group, but a real genuine laugh. He cannot believe he is having this conversation with Dean Winchester, and _actually agreeing with him._

“Well damn look at that,” Castiel says with a real smile on his face and no sarcasm present in his tone, “You and I actually agree on something.”

Dean’s eyes met Castiel’s for the first time since coming down here, and even he gives a small half smile of his own. “Freaky. Wait, who’s yours supposed to be of then?”

Castiel smiles and goes into a lengthy description on why he chose to paint the archangel Lucifer and why he came up with the vessel idea. Towards the end of his story Dean has a bigger smile on his face and barks out, “I totally agree with you, Cas! If Lucifer was possessing some poor bastard, he would be burning into a crisp on the inside. No way that much power would leave some mortal unaffected.”

_Dean Winchester called me Cas._

“Cas?” Castiel finally asks with an unreadable expression planted on his face.

Dean seemed shocked when hearing that Castiel caught his impulsive nickname. “Uh, yeah. I didn’t think Slowvak was an appropriate name to use and Castiel is a little too lengthy for me. Although if you –“

Dean was cut off short by Castiel’s small chuckle. “No, Dean, I like it. No one has ever called me that before.”

“Really?”

Cas nods a little shyly. He doesn’t know why he’s telling Dean all this information about himself, or why he’s a little nervous around Dean, or why he hasn’t used sarcasm since initially seeing Dean this afternoon. Or why he’s even calling Dean, _Dean_ in his head, but he is.

“Well from now on, when we’re down here, you’re just Cas to me,” Dean says with a smile as he catches Cas’ gaze again.

It was that moment that Cas realized what a total idiot he had been. This Dean Winchester wasn’t a dick, probably the farthest thing from it. Here he was having an intelligent conversation with someone who he thought he hated for the past three years of his life. Mentally Castiel smacked himself on the head, although on the outside he gave Dean another real smile before turning back and working on his painting.

Dean seemed to take the hint because soon enough he began to flow his thin brush across the already sketched lines for Raphael’s wings. Castiel was just as focused as he filled in the burnt sores on Lucifer’s face. As the last sore was being filled and shaded in, Castiel heard his name through what seemed to be a thick fog.

He shook his head as he realized that Dean was looking at him with big eyes like he was trying to get Castiel's attention. Slowly he turned his body so he was facing Dean again.

Dean whistled to himself, “Damn, once you’re in the zone it’s impossible to bring you back down to Earth.”   Castiel was about to snap something back before Dean continued his initial thought. “I was trying to see if you could tell me about your tattoo there,” Dean said nodding his head towards his back.

Castiel figured it would happen sooner or later today. Not many people knew about his tattoos because of how heavily he dressed. Black leather jacket, gray long sleeve shirt, undershirt underneath that. When people did, it was always the big ‘why did you do it?’ and ‘do you regret it?’. Although Castiel was really starting to warm up to Dean, he wasn’t quite ready to tell anyone the real story behind the angel wings tattoo, or any of them really.

“It’s just relates to my name and the theology behind it,” Castiel lies easily enough. “I was named after Castiel, Angel of the Lord, and I’ve always been fascinated by him. When I turned seventeen I decided to get my first tattoo,” Castiel says while showing Dean the black cross inked on the inside of his left wrist.

“Then I decided to go bigger and get my name in Enochian on my stomach.” Castiel didn’t lift up his shirt, but the way he gestured to it had Dean believing every word.

“And then over the summer I got these wings done.” This time Castiel did turn around and outstretched both of his arms, so Dean could see the extension of the wings coming out of Castiel’s shirt. Dean scooted over a little more to take in all the detail done. Gingerly he places his fingers on the tips of the wings, which stretched from the center of his back to the tips of his elbows.  The small, almost gentle touched, caused Castiel to stiffen underneath him.

“Cas, these are fantastic.”

The wings, Castiel would agree, are quite fantastic. He got them done by an old friend, Balthazar, over the summer when his parents were gone. Balthazar had done a spectacular job giving the wings enough detail, making the feathers pop, and all doing it so the wings weren’t filled in a cliché white or black. The color shining through all the detail was Castiel’s true skin color, and that’s what he liked the most about it.

After a few seconds, Cas cleared his throat which Dean seemed to understand, because soon after, his fingers left Castiel’s arm and fell lazily to his side. “Yes, well, thank you.”

Castiel heard Dean’s mouth open and a small breath of air being taken in but Castiel quickly cut him short with one look at the clock. “Shit,” Cas exclaimed, “Fuck, it’s five forty-five. I told Ms. Barnes I’d be out of here and locked up at five thirty. How fast can you help me clean up?”

This seemed to erase all previous thoughts Dean seemed to have as he began to clean up all the paint and brushes the two of them seemed to use. Well brushes _Dean_ seemed to use, Castiel loved to paint with his fingers, hands, and the occasional elbow.

It was five fifty when both boys were outside the classroom, fully dressed, and Castiel turned the lock on the classroom door. Castiel was about to thank Dean for the sudden help he received when he realized that he would actually regret not talking to Dean Winchester like this tomorrow during school.

Instead Castiel asked, “This doesn’t change anything, does it?”

Dean let out an exasperated sigh, with a small huff towards the end. “No I guess it really doesn’t.” In a nervous habit, Castiel ran his hand through his already messy hair and frowned a little to himself. “But,” Dean continued, “I need to come back after school tomorrow to continue on Raphael. Are you? Coming back? To work on Lucifer I mean.”

Castiel’s eyes snapped up to see Dean’s face slightly flustered. Castiel’s frown quickly dissolved into a cocky smile. “I wasn’t planning on it, but because you asked so nicely...”

Dean’s face seemed to relax and his genuine smile turned into a famous Winchester smirk. “Then until tomorrow, Slowvak,” Dean whispered to Cas, before making his way left to where the parking lot is located.

Before Dean opened the backdoor from school to escape to the parking lot Cas calls out after him, classic Novak sarcasm dripping into his voice, “In your dreams, Losechester!”


	2. Chapter 2

True to his word, Castiel stayed after school on Wednesday to continue his work on Lucifer. It was another fairly warm day, so Castiel repeated the same actions taken the day before. After making sure Ms. Barnes entrusted him with the keys, and had no intention of returning, Cas raised from his stool and moved to windows. Castiel opened the far left window ajar enough so a light breeze moved through the classroom. After that he stripped down to his undershirt and skinny jeans before returning to his original position.

An hour ago before class started, Castiel had once again examined his painting to see if his progress was acceptable. He still had a long way to go and only a month until his deadline. Mentally Castiel recognized he still needed to finish the layers that would create Lucifer’s clothing, paint the hair, and figure out a setting that seemed appropriate. The shading on Lucifer’s face already done made the setting limited to only a few options in order for the story to still be accurate. In a frustrated manner, Castiel raked his hands through his hair and let out a huge groan.

Too consumed in his own thoughts, he didn’t even notice when Dean entered the room; pulled up his own easel, and dragged a nearby stool next to him. He only snapped out of his trance when he heard that iconic joking voice ask him a question, “What’s wrong, Cas? You seem like you just discovered the Texans made it to the Super Bowl.”

Castiel looked over at Dean with his eyes squinted and his head slightly cocked to the side. “What the fuck is a Texans and a Super Bowl?”

Dean gaped at Castiel for all of two seconds before falling into a fit of laughter. Not long after did Castiel get annoyed by Dean’s harsh laughter and give up trying to talk to him. He turned back towards his painting ready to begin the outline for the background. _Oh right, you don’t have one_ , Castiel remembered and his frustration quickly returned.

Not that the stalling seemed to matter because by the time Castiel gave up, Dean seemed to have pulled himself together well enough so he could correct Cas, “What _are_ the Texans and _the_ Super Bowl, Cas. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of football.”

Castiel cocked his head back over to Dean. “You mean the game where a bunch of Neanderthals run around, clutching an egg shaped, leather ball, trying to score a home-” Castiel was going to say home run but the murderous look on Dean’s face told him that he was wrong before he even finished that sentence, “-touchdown?”

Castiel didn’t know when he started caring if Dean Winchester thought he knew anything about sports, but all of a sudden he really didn’t want to seem like the idiot Dean thought he was. Lucky for him, Dean happened to look semi-impressed. “Not bad, I suppose. I’ve been with girls that know less about it, so I guess I can give you something.”

Castie gave Dean one of his famous smug smiles before Dean started again, “But, you never did answer my question. What’s wrong?”

Castiel's eyes raked over Dean’s face. He could hear the genuine concern in his voice and even his face showed some degree of worry. Dean’s eyes were focused on Castiel’s and his lips were parted ready to talk. His eyes then raked over his own painting once more.

“It’s the setting,” he blurted out. “I didn’t initially have one when I began sketching and now that I’m nearing the end of Lucifer I realize that it’s just the angel and blank white canvas. The shading I initially added isn’t helping my cause either.” Castiel finished with a low groan into his hands.

Dean seemed slightly amused by Castiel's words. Like it was something he had to deal with a thousand times. “Hey that’s an easy fix; it’s just something in the background to add depth to your character. Plus something to keep the observer engaged.”

Dean mused at his own words for a few seconds before continuing, “Well, you know what I think of when I hear Lucifer? I think of destruction, chaos, fire, and death. You’ve already got the shading done so it looks like he’s standing by a fire, why not continue with that?”

As Dean finished, Castiel stared at his painting and studied the shading very intently. He could see what Dean meant, that it looked like Lucifer was standing by a fire, or rather inside a ring of fire. The shading on the left side of Lucifer’s face seemed warm and had a slight glow to it, as opposed to typical darker shading tones. Once again Castiel turned towards Dean to thank him for his help. But, by the time he opened his mouth, Dean was engrossed in his own painting of Raphael.

With a quick shrug Castiel threw himself into his own work as well.

And that’s how Dean and Castiel spent the majority of their time in the art room after school for the rest of that current week. Castiel would stay down in Ms. Barnes’ classroom after the final bell rang and waited for the familiar smell and warmth Dean radiated when he dragged his stool next to his own.

Both teenagers continued to make great progress on their artwork as well. Castiel all but had Lucifer’s hair, clothes, and half the setting left to finish. Dean, on the other hand, had Raphael’s wings and whatever was left of the background to fill in.

After what Dean suggested to Castiel on Wednesday about the fire radiating behind Lucifer’s body, it was all he focused on. He quickly sketched out the low flames that illuminated around what appeared to be Lucifer’s feet, in a class period. Instead of using traditional pastel paints like for Lucifer’s body, Castiel decided to use oil pastels.

Originally Castiel tried explaining his rationale to Dean on Monday afternoon, “That way it won’t take away from the real essence of the painting, which is Lucifer. It’s also easier to work with to make the colors blend and create a dull tone. Fuck you, Winchester, it is _not_ a girly method of creating a setting!”

But Dean just laughed, and switched the subject instead. “What’s your favorite color?”

“What?”

“What. Is. Your-”

“No, I heard you, but what is this? Fucking kindergarten?” Castiel asked, sarcasm dripping into his voice.

“No, I’m just curious. Here I’ll start, my favorite color is red. What’s yours?”

“I still don’t see why this matters.” Castiel paused for a moment to think. Favorite color? Now that really did take him back to kindergarten. “I’ve always liked the color blue, I suppose.”

Dean just smiled smugly back at him. “See now was that so hard?”

He simply replied with an eye roll.

After that their conversations turned from strictly about art to anything and everything under the sun. The next day, after they moved to their usual locations, Dean only sat in about ten minutes of silence before breaking it to ask another seemingly pointless question.

“Batman or Superman?”

Again Cas was shocked that Dean was talking to him, and about really pointless things too. “What?” It seemed to show in his response.

And, just liked before, Dean repeated himself. Every syllable was slow and articulated when he spoke, “Batman. Or-”

“No, I heard you _again._ I just want to know what this has to do with anything.”

Dean shrugged before he responded, “I guess I just want to know more about you. You’re not as bad as I initially thought.”

Castiel over dramatically put his hands over his heart and looked at Dean with huge eyes. “How touching.” Dean looked over at Cas, this time with an almost evil looking glare. Having seen that look a thousand times, Castiel instantly backed off. Lightly throwing his hands in the air and having them fall to his sides. “Alright then, Superman,” he finally replied.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” Dean replied with a low groan.

“What? You think Batman is better?” Castiel asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. _Now this was going to be interesting._

Dean nodded sharply and was about to open his mouth before Castiel cut him off.

“No way can you think Batman is better,” he exclaimed, his voice, he realized, was rising angrily. “Bruce Wayne is just a rich boy trying to prove that he’s good enough to the world by becoming something he should have never become. If he wanted to do _good_ and _help_ Gotham he should be investing time into Wayne Enterprises! Not running around with like a masked vigilante.”

“Now wait just a damn minute,” Dean quickly argued, Castiel vaguely noticed that his voice had risen too. “Bruce didn’t ask for this life. He feels a need of responsibility after what he did to his parents. He does that by becoming the Batman and defending the streets so that never happens again. How could you possibly think he isn’t doing good?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because crime seemed to have gone up and got more creative ever since Batman decided to ‘help.’” Castiel barked back, he even decided to add air quotes around ‘help’, to create emphasize.

“Bullshit! At least Batman keeps a good secret identity and can minimize the damage around him!” Dean practically yelled back.

Castiel, being the stubborn bastard he knows he is, doesn’t back down. Instead he straightened his posture and glared at Dean with his piercing blue eyes. “Oh yes. Bruce Wayne disappears for years, to go to The League of Shadows, and right when he comes home to Gotham Batman shows up, how weird! And let’s not forget when Batman disappeared Bruce Wayne suddenly becomes a hallow shell of the man he once was. But, when Batman comes back so does Bruce Wayne.”

“What, and fake glasses and a section of hair curled does count as a proper alter ego? One look at him and you could easily tell that both men were the same,” Dean practically screamed back.

Castiel huffed out an annoyed laugh. “Seriously? That’s your argument? If I were to put on glasses and change the style of my hair too, I’m pretty sure it would throw you off as well.”

Dean seemed to accept Castiel’s threat, and challenge him with a hard glare of his own. With gritted teeth he said, “Great now you’re going to tell me that you think Captain America is better than Iron Man.”

Castiel quickly shut his mouth and looked anywhere, but Dean’s face. He did think Captain America was better than Iron Man, but it just looked like another small argument was going to arise. All Cas wanted to do was work on his painting and go home. He liked Dean, sure, but it only seemed that they were arguing even away from their cliques.

“Oh you’ve got to be shitting me,” Dean said with another low groan.

But, Castiel never did learn when to back down from a fight. “What? He’s an American icon! Steve Rogers stands for everything that is good and over looked in today’s society. The reason he was chose for the super serum was because of the qualities he already possessed. Not the ones he gained in Afghanistan.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking! Tony Stark did not have an easy childhood. His father ignored him more often than not, he hardly saw his mother, he worked super hard to try and prove himself, and his parents were killed when he was a teenager. He lost his ways before twenty, and with Iron Man, he came back,” Dean shot back.

“But again, Steve already possessed what was, and is, morally right before becoming Captain America. He already knows right from wrong, and proves that from the forties until current times,” Castiel practically yelled back at Dean.

Castiel also became consciously aware that both he and Dean were standing in each other’s personal space, fingers jabbing at one another’s chest. He certainly didn’t remember shooting out of his stool and couldn’t believe they were actually having this argument, and to this degree.

Before Dean could respond Castiel laughed, a full body laugh. He still couldn’t believe that he was getting worked up over fictional characters, superheroes to say the least. No one even knew he enjoyed the action packed stories, and here he was, getting out of a heated argument with Dean Winchester.

After a while Castiel noticed that even Dean was laughing along with him. “Oh my god,” Dean gasped, hardly catching his breath. “Did we seriously just get into a fight about which superheroes were better?”

Castiel responded with a nod before catching his own breath. “Can we at least agree on one thing?” Dean looked at Castiel again, this time with much softer eyes and crinkles surrounding them. “That the Marvel Cinematic Universe is better than the DC Cinematic Universe?”

Dean let out another small laugh before agreeing. “It had potential! But then they couldn’t get Christian Bale back so they had to settle for Ben Affleck. Which by the way is a shitty choice. Did you see him in Daredevil?

 

* * *

 

 

After the superhero incident in the art room, Dean and Cas became fast friends. They seemed to find themselves talking about everything and anything under the sun. Castiel actually found that he enjoyed their time in the art room a lot more than he initially thought he would.

So much so that he hardly ever put on an act or a show for Dean anymore. Instead of all high shoulders and puffed out chest, Castiel would find himself slouched back and relaxed into a comfortable posture. His tight, and otherwise cocky, smiles quickly faltered away to real genuine ones.

He also learned a ton about Dean, the real Dean. He found out that Dean enjoyed Kurt Vonnegut and thought _Slaughterhouse-Five_ beat _Cat’s Cradle_ by a mile. He learned that Dean loved Star Trek, and especially the original TV series. Surprisingly he also learned that Dean is smart. Not genius level smart, but definitely above average, he just never gave himself enough credit.

Dean also learned that Castiel really wanted a lip piercing. First Cas started off with the five ear piercings combined on both ears, then it was the two nose piercings, one stud and one ring, before finally working up to the eyebrow piercing received last month. After all that it just seemed like the next step, but due to his busy schedule, he didn’t find time to schedule an appointment. Dean also learned a little more about his tattoos, but as much as Castiel suddenly trusted Dean, the truth was still a secret.

However, it’s not that Castiel expected them to become best friends outside the art room, but maybe argue a little less. Sure, in an alternate life, he wanted to go to Dean and joke around with him like they did after school, or even act like nerds once and a while, maybe even something as simple as wave to each other before school. He knew that could never happen, but it was still nice to imagine.

Although it was fairly obvious, Castiel soon realized that he liked the Dean Winchester in the art room a lot more than he liked the Dean Winchester in the hallways. As stupid and immature as it was, he really thought they might act a little more natural around each other in the halls. But, one week later, here they are bickering by the staircase.

The only upside was that things did slightly change for the better. Typically while Castiel made his way down to the art room for seventh period art he would run into Dean and his clique of baseball teammates. Today was no exception.

As usual Castiel was gripping his messenger bag, eyes pointed down. Occasionally he would look up, but that was only to glare at anyone that dared stand in his way. Castiel prided himself on mastering that look down so early on in his High School career, it only got better and more intimidating.

However that glare never worked on Dean Winchester. And there he was, guarding the staircase, not even flinching after the classic Novak glare was executed.

“Slowvak,” Dean hissed out, the name sounding like venom.

“I’m sorry was someone talking? Because it sounded like an annoying pest who is blocking the god damn hallway!” Castiel yelled back, eyes furious.

“No need to get your panties in a twist, delinquent. I’m just here to grab something out of my locker,” Dean said with smooth ease.

“Your locker?” he repeated, eyebrows raised in question. He knew for a fact that Dean’s locker was in the first locker bay not the third, and that was only because Dean himself showed him.

Dean vaguely motioned to the lockers on the right side of the hall leading to the stair case. Castiel was still unsatisfied, if you were going to make up a lie at least come up with false facts. Dean seemed to accept the unspoken challenge, because next thing he knew, Dean pointed to a seemingly random locker and repeated, “My locker.”

“Really? You honestly expect me to believe that it’s pure coincidence that you’re here, blocking the hall, at this time of day, every day, and never at any other point, because you come to your locker.”

“That’s right,” Dean replied, smooth enough.

Anger started to bubble in Castiel’s blood. At this rate he was never going to make it before the bell, and that meant another tardy for him. “Right then, how about opening in?”

Dean’s cocky smile fell and he asked dumbly, “What?”

“If it’s your locker, how about opening it?” Castiel challenged, he started to feel a little more confident. “Unless you were lying. And, in that case, please move the fuck away from the staircase so I don’t get another tardy.”

Dean grumbled an admit of defeat, before he and his friends moved slightly out of the way. With a cocky smirk of his own Castiel moved over to Dean and give his shoulder a rough pat.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Losechester.”

But this had a different ending than all the other fights before. Instead of Dean frowning and stalking away, he gave Cas a small, real, smile. That close up, Castiel knew he was the only one to see it. But still, that meant being down in the art room meant just as much to Dean as it did to him.

Castiel's heart did a little backflip as he moved away from Dean with a small smile of his own. Without another word exchanged between the two, Castiel breezed down the staircase, and Dean stalked off down the hallway.

Castiel realized that they never talked about what happened during school days when they were in the art room. He didn’t know if he liked that or not. On one side it meant they could easily fall back into the natural environment they had created for themselves. However on the other side, it meant that the cliché floating around Kripke High School still had not officially been broken.

Once they first started talking to each other it took them a while to find a rhythm to get into. It seemed to be all or nothing when it came to talking with Dean. Either they would talk until their time to leave, not once touching their projects. Or they would sit in complete silence and not focus on anything but their art work. As fun as it was talking to Dean, the reason they were down there was to finish their art projects, and after their unusual conversation habits, it started to take a toll on both of their projects.

Castiel had hardly touched Lucifer in over a week. His clothes and the final arm work still had to be completed. He had the shirt colors in mind, but that required the setting to finalize first, to check if the colors were complementary. He also had the hair to work on, which was by far the most frustrating part for him. Sketching hair Castiel knew how to do, but painting it never seemed to work out. Somehow he always messed up the shading or the highlights.

Dean had also hardly touched Raphael’s wings over the past couple of days. Even so, Castiel thought they were coming along beautifully. The electric blue Dean originally picked for the scattered and cracked wings already seemed to pop off the canvas, but he had also decided that he wanted the final background color to be a smoky gray. The hardest challenge facing him right now, was to make sure that the wings were still highlighted with enough white so it wasn’t swallowed up by the dark background.

After a week and a half, Dean and Castiel quickly found an unspoken compromise for when they talked. They didn’t go back to not talking like at the initial beginning, or talking nonstop like more recent times, but instead they found themselves working in a comfortable silence occasionally broken with random conversations.

After the most recent staircase incident one of the first things Dean asked Castiel while plopping down in his stool that day was, “How did you know that wasn’t my locker?”

Castiel didn’t bother to look at Dean when he responded, instead he focused on shading in the thick oil pastel lines of fire for Lucifer’s background. “You showed it me last week, remember? You had a pie from a gas station in there and you ‘just had to have it now.’”

Castiel only heard a hum come from Dean that sounded like a vague, “Oh right.” For a while that was his only response.

He didn’t seem to mind all the new appreciated quiet time. Castiel really did have a lot to do in order to complete Lucifer by midterm. And as of right now his main objective was still on the background. So far everything was coming into place nicely; the reds, oranges, and yellows all blended together to create an illuminating shade that paint could never create in a dull enough fashion.

Lately, he also noticed that Dean was making great progress on Raphael. The largest, and most iconic, portion of his painting was by far Raphael’s electric blue, lightening created, wings. It was also the reason Dean didn’t need a background image, unlike Castiel. For the majority of the time Dean and Cas spent down together actually working, Dean was always engrossed on the wings.

“What else do you know about me?” Was Dean’s next question.

 _“What?”_ Cas nearly choked out. Sure he had heard a lot about Dean in the sense he knew Dean was not hinting at. The girls, the janitor's closets, and the parties.  But, he would rather not discuss how he knew that information.

“No, not like that,” Dean quickly defended before reframing his question. “I mean, what did you know about me, before we started hanging out?”

Castiel thought about it for a moment. Not much, now that he really took the time to think about it. He thought he knew everything, but there was so much that after the first week of talking to Dean, Castiel found was either made up or only true to a degree. Finally he said, “I knew you played baseball.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Castiel just shrugged. If he was being honest with himself, he really did not care about Dean Winchester before he really met him.

“Do you even know how to play baseball?” Dean asked, snapping Castiel out of his thoughts.

The other boy huffed out a small laugh. “Dean, one of the very few things I’m bad at happens to be sports. I can do average participating during gym.   But exceeding, or knowing all of them, is not where my area of expertise lie.”

At Castiel’s words Dean let out a small bark of laughter. Then his face changed from a cocky smile to a more genuine smile. “You should come to one of our games.”

Dead silence.

Castiel really didn’t know how to respond to that. Sure he had always wanted to see Dean play, more so now that they became friendly. But fantasying about going to a game, and actually sitting on the bleachers, watching Dean play in the Spring were two very different things.

Castiel covered up his feelings well enough. “Don’t all the girlfriends go to the games though? Won’t yours get jealous?”

More silence.

More dead silence.

Castiel turned over to Dean to witness him staring intently at his brush soaking in water. Tentatively, and with slight sarcasm, Castiel broke the silence. “You are kidding, right? The great Dean Winchester doesn’t have a girlfriend? Now you’re just lying.” He finished by lightly bumping his shoulder against Dean’s.

Dean seemed to let a small smile escape his lips, and even his shoulders seemed to deflate. “No. What about you? The great Castiel Novak doesn’t have a girlfriend? I’m almost a hundred percent sure that dark haired girl is your girlfriend, right?”

Castel scrunched up his nose in the way that meant he was disgusted in something. “Who Meg?  First of all, she dyed it to blonde again.  Second of all, no, god no. The highest degree I would label her with is ‘friend.’ Besides I tried swinging that way once, didn’t really do it for me.”

 _“What?”_ Dean nearly choked out.

Castiel chuckled a little at Dean’s embarrassment. “Surely this isn’t the first you’re hearing about this.”

_Nothing._

“I slept with like half the GSA club?”

_Nothing._

“I made out with one of your teammates, uh Elliot? Shit, no that’s not right. Edmund? Fuck, oh wait, Ed! Yeah Ed, before a game, or something?”

_Nothing._

“Well damn, for being my worst enemy you really missed a lot of potential ammo here.”

“Cas,” Dean finally said. “Could you maybe not cheapen the moment?”

Cas let out a breath of air and had a cocky smile planted on his face. The confident smile quickly faded into a small and reclusive smile when Cas remembered the original question at hand of an answer. “I would really like to come to one of your games, though.”

Dean looked back at Cas and gave him a real smile as well. Cas didn’t know why but Dean’s real smile did an effect on him. It really made him feel special, and he hardly cared that Lucifer was long abandoned.

“As long as you don’t make out with Ed before the game you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Cas let out a small laugh before agreeing.

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel finally finished the fire that illuminated Lucifer’s body, with weeks to spare on his project. Thank God for that, he still had a body and hair style to complete.

He was genuinely shocked how well it turned out. In fact it seemed to make Lucifer even more threatening. The added shading around Lucifer’s eyes illuminated the gaze that dared anyone to question his power. Unfortunately, Castiel had to add a little more shading to Lucifer’s body and face in order for the painting to flow. In the end, it was a small price to pay in order to finish a big portion of his artwork.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered once he put oil Vegas Gold oil pastel crayon down and stepped back to look his piece. “Dean, I think the background is done.”

Dean lazily looked up from Raphael and over to Castiel’s painting. His eyes raked over the half completed painting slowly, taking in every detail on canvas. A few feet away Castiel nervously ran his hands through his hair. He really wanted Dean to like his artwork so far, after all he was the one to suggest the fire.

After a few minutes Dean looked up to Castiel and gave him another real genuine smile. “Looks great, Cas. Really.” And that’s all it took for Cas to break into the widest grin he could remember making in a long time.

Better yet, for the first time since Dean and Castiel first started hanging out, he was able to thank him for his for his constant help. He really didn’t know if he could’ve done this without Dean.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel could kill his AP Calculus teacher.  To assign twenty problems of homework each night was pushing his restraint enough.  But to assign thirty-five problems, and warn the class that an important test would be taken tomorrow had just crossed the line.  This wasn’t an easy class, and as smart as Castiel was, he wasn’t a genius.

To add on top of that, he still had Lucifer to complete.  With the background fully completed, Cas could finally put all of his energy into the body and clothes.  It wasn’t that the clothing was the most iconic part of the painting, or the portion he cared about the most.  What Cas was mainly focused on was making sure the crossed arms painted in front of Lucifer’s chest stood out enough.  He was supposed to look challenging, daring you to prove your worth against him, and Cas really thought the point was driven across with these small details.

It wasn’t a hard decision to make, study for a test in AP Calculus or work on a painting for an extra art course.  The AP test counted for a lot in the gradebook, and Cas really wanted to keep his grade up.  The hard decision was whether or not to ditch Dean in the art room that day to study, or pretend he wasn’t stressing out over a test, so he could talk to Dean.

Cas would never admit it out loud, but he really valued his time spent with Dean.  He really enjoyed letting down all his protective walls and having someone see the real him.  Dean was also easy to be around, it was almost natural to fall into rhythm with him, and he didn’t want to wreck that just to study for a test.

Well that was putting it at its mildest term, this wasn’t just any test.  All AP tests counted for 60% of his grade in said class.  Currently Cas’ grade in AP Calculus was teetering between an A and an A- at a 92%, all he needed was a solid A on this test to guarantee the A for the first semester.

By the end of seventh hour Cas made up his mind.  He needed this A in AP Calculus, in theory this could be what makes or breaks his college application.  And despite what everyone else thinks, he really did want to go to college.

Cas had already pulled the sheet cover over Lucifer and started to drag his easel over to the other abandoned angel projects when Dean strolled in.  Cas looked over his shoulder to see Dean still standing in the center of the doorframe, his eyebrows were slightly furrowed.  Shit, he didn’t expect to run into Dean when he left.

Cas straightened his posture and said, “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean responded, lightening up a little bit.  “You not staying or something?”

Cas shrugged his shoulders and made his way over to his messenger bag.  When he bent down to retrieve it, Cas noticed that its contents were scattered across the floor.  With a small groan of irritation, Cas bent over to gather his notebooks and pencils to shove them in his old bag.

“I’d like to, don’t get me wrong.  However I have a math test tomorrow.  With enough luck, I might get a decent grade, which would put me in a real good spot to receive the final grade I want.”

Dean seemed to acknowledge that with a small nod.  After a few second of silence Dean finally responded, “I could help you, if you want.  I mean, I’m fairly good at math, solid B plus right now.  But, I mean, that’s totally up to you.”

Cas stifled a harsh laugh.  He knew Dean was above average in intelligence, that’s probably why he was taking an extra year of math than required.  But, Cas was three years above the required course in math.  He hardly doubted Dean could help with his assignment.

With a gentle voice Cas lied, “Oh no really it’s fine.  I just, uh, I really don’t like to work with other people.  It helps me study.”

Dean gave Cas a questioning stare before he said, “C’mon, Cas.  You and I both know that isn’t true, you work here with me, don’t you?”

Dean took a pause before finishing, “Unless you don’t like working together.”

Cas noticed that Dean’s voice wavered a fraction towards the end.  His heart ached for the small lie he told, he really didn’t want it to affect Dean; it was just so he could get out of here.

Cas instantly responded with a sharp, “No!”  He almost smacked himself on the head for how idiotic and impulsive he sounded.

Cas quickly covered it up, “I mean, no, I do enjoy working with you.  It’s just, I’m good at painting, but I’m not that great at math.  No that’s an overstatement, I’m horrible, there’s a good possibility I fail this next test.  I’d rather study by myself to work on memory tricks, and stuff like that.”

“Are you sure?  Pre-Calculus is something I’m pretty decent at.  Plus, something is better than nothing,” Dean pushed.

“No, Dean, really I’m fine,” Cas argued as his scooped up his last notebook and slipped on his messenger bag.

“Wait, is that your math notebook?” Dean asked, his head nodded towards the notebook in Cas’ hands.

And shit.  Of course it was.  Bless Castiel’s luck that the one notebook he didn’t put in his messenger bag was the one notebook he didn’t want Dean to see.

Cas huffed out an annoyed laugh before responding sharply, “Well so it is.  Huh, isn’t that ironic.  Well I’ll be on my way to study, I’ll see you tomorrow, Dean.”

With the notebook tightly in Castiel’s hand he began to make his way out the art room.  When Cas approached the doorway he noticed that Dean still hadn’t budged, and was blocking the entire exit.

“Dean,” Cas said, annoyance strong in his tone.  “Please let me through.”

“Cas.”

“Dean!”

“Cas, I honestly, don’t see what the big deal is.  So you’re bad at math.  Who cares?  Just, why won’t you let me help you?  At least tell me what lesson you’re on so I can give you some tips?”

“Dean, why do you even care?”

“I don’t know, I just want to help you, man.  That’s what friends are supposed to do, right?”

Cas looked up at Dean and damn he actually looked sincere.  He actually looked like he cared about what Cas was “struggling” with and that he honestly wanted to help.  It was things like this that made Cas feel special, that someone, for once in his life, actually cared about him and thought that he was their friend.

But still, this could ruin everything.  So with a stubborn, set jaw, Cas tried to push his way past Dean.  No such luck, Dean wouldn’t budge.  Actually less such luck, because with the effort Cas focused on pushing away Dean with, he seemed to have let his grip loose on his notebook.  Enough so that when Dean reached his hand to tug on Cas’ notebook it fell right out.

“Dean!” Cas shrieked, flailing out to try and retrieve his stolen notebook.

“Cas,” Dean said coolly as he held the notebook above his head, far out of Castiel’s reach.

“Dean, give it back.  C’mon, give it,” Cas said in his most threatening voice.

It didn’t seem to affect Dean in the slightest.  Instead Dean moved further into the art room, away from Cas, and skimmed through his notebook.

Shit.  Well that’s it, this is the end.  Cas closed his eyes, waiting and preparing for the mocking he knew he was about to receive.  Seconds passed and when nothing happened, Cas cautiously opened one of his eyes to look over at Dean.

Oh god this was so much worse.  Dean was still looking through the notebook.  Flipping through each page tentatively, his eyes seemed to rake over every equation and formula Cas neatly wrote down.  Finally Dean looked back at Cas, awe clearly written on his face.

“Cas, this isn’t Pre-Calc.  What course are you taking?  And why is your handwriting so god damn neat?”  Dean asked.

Cas huffed out a small laugh before striding his way over to Dean.  Once reaching Dean’s side Cas retrieved the stolen notebook from his Dean’s hands, and shoved it back into the messenger bag.  Dean didn’t seem to mind, in fact it seemed as though he was waiting for a response.

“Oh, um, no you’re right.  That was actually AP Calculus,” Cas responded.

Dean’s eyes blew even more out of his head.  “You’re in what?” He repeated, dumbly.

“AP Calculus,” Cas repeated, sarcasm dripping into his voice.  “You know, the course after Calc, two after Pre-Calc.”

“No, jackass, I know what AP Calculus is.  I just didn’t expect you to be in it,” Dean snapped back.

And, God, that hurt a lot more than it should.  Sure Cas got asked these questions all the time.  ‘If you’re so smart, why do you look like that’, ‘you just wasted your whole future by getting that tattoo’, ‘no college, no person, is ever going to take you seriously.’  But those were strangers, this was Dean.  Dean, who Cas thought actually understood him.  

Dean, who was known as the jock of the school, but with Cas saw the intelligent and fragile sides to Dean.  Dean, who was known as the man whore of the school, but had told Cas that he hadn’t slept with a girl since the beginning of October because he wanted to focus on school.  Dean, who was just as complex as Castiel, turned out to be just like everyone else.

That still didn’t hold Cas from snapping back himself, “And what the hell is that supposed to mean, Winchester?”

Dean looked taken aback by Cas’ words.  “Nothing,” He quickly responded.  “It’s just-”

“Just because I don’t wear thick rimmed glasses or possess a nerdy outer shell, that I don’t deserve the right to be, what society considers, smart,” Cas said, finishing Dean’s sentence.

“No,” Dean said, followed by an unsure pause.  “Yes?  I don’t know… I guess I just never expected Castiel Badass Novak, to care about grades.”

“You think I’m badass?”

“C’mon man, everyone does.”

Cas returned the compliment with a smug smile.  But that still didn’t help the rejection, the absolute betrayal he felt inside.  He said the first thing that came to his mind, “I just can’t believe you’re like everyone else.  I really thought you would understand my life choices; understand me.”

When Cas met Dean eyes again, he looked hurt.  Dean’s mouth gaped open before he said, “Cas, I do understand you.  It’s just-”

“No, Dean, you don’t!” Cas shot back, not even caring that he had cut Dean off.  “You’re only looking at who I am on the outside, not the inside.  I’ve told you things that I haven’t even told my own brothers, yet you’re treating me like some punkass douche bag!  I just really thought you’d be able to understand and see that there’s more to me than a few tattoos and piercings.”

And, wow, holy shit where the hell did that confession come from.  Sure Castiel felt that way and sure Dean had hurt him, but holy shit he did not need to know.  No one did.

Cas didn’t even notice Dean was talking until he felt Dean’s hand lightly rest on his shoulder.  All he heard were Dean’s last few sentences, “-and if you’re a genius then who the cares?  Look, I’m sorry for assuming, it never occurred to me that underneath all that ink and metal you had a brain better than everyone else I know.”

Dean’s eyes locked with Castiel’s, and he gave Dean a small smile.  That was probably the nicest compliment he ever received.  “Thank you,” Cas said.  “I’m sorry I snapped at you.  I just feel that everyone, even my teachers, treat me like an outer shell, who is wasted past High School.”

Dean’s whole face seemed to crumble.  “Even the teachers treat you like shit?” He asked.

Cas nodded.  “Yeah, you’d be surprised.”

“Well fuck them,” Dean said with a huff of annoyance.  “With the classes you’re taking you would definitely be able to get into a good college…  You, uh, you do want to go to college, right?”

Cas thought about that for a moment.  Sure he had always wanted to go to college.  He wanted to go into the world with a degree and show all the people that doubted him that he could do something with his life.  The problem was being treated like a person before getting accepted.  Castiel had the grades and test scores to prove he was intelligent, but if he had to sit through an interview, he’s pretty sure that the interviewer wouldn’t take him seriously.

Finally he said, “I don’t know.  Maybe.”

“Maybe?”  Dean repeated.

“Well, again, it’s not like anyone would take me seriously,” Cas murmured.

“Cas,” Dean said with a soft voice.  “You’re smart.  Like genius level smart.  I think that calls for at least getting taken more seriously than, say, me.  If you’re worried that a college is going to turn you down because you don’t fit their image, then you’re wrong.”

Cas felt the tips of his ears heat up.  Alright, this was just a little too touchy for him.  With one last small smile, Cas released himself from Dean’s grip.  He was almost out the door when he heard Dean’s voice from inside the art room.

“Y’know, if you want to study here, keep me company, I wouldn’t mind.”

And that’s how Castiel found himself spending his time in the art room that afternoon.  Once Cas backtracked into the art room, he set up a small study station on one of the only tables the room had to offer.  They hardly did any talking, Dean painted and Cas studied.  The few conversations they did have consisted mainly of Cas complaining over math, and Dean getting to know more about Castiel’s hidden talent.

“You could help me.  Kill my math teacher, I mean.  I swear this is too much homework for any eighteen year-old,” Cas groaned.

Dean chuckled from his place a few feet over.  “I don’t know, Cas.  That seems pretty illegal,” he said jokingly.

“If we were careful enough, we could make it look like an accident,” Cas added.

“I’m going to have to say no, Cas.  To be honest, I didn’t even know they offered AP Calculus at this school,” Dean said.

“They don’t,” Cas said.  “They hardly offer us a class.  And when I say us, I mean that very loosely.  It’s six kids, one teacher, and an hour before school because that was the only time she could leave the University to teach us.”

“Why not drive to the University and take the class there?” Dean asked.

“Not everyone can drive.  Believe it or not, there are Sophomores taking this class,” Cas said with a small laugh at the end.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re joking,” Dean exclaimed.  Cas shook his head lightly before Dean continued, “Here I am, only taking average classes.  Alright then, what other smart classes do you take?  You know, that are offered at the school.”

“Well, I take AP Biology, AP Literature, and then AP Calculus,” Cas responded.

“What you don’t take AP History, too?” Dean asked as a joke.

Cas scrunched up his nose, missing the joke entirely, and said, “No, I was going to.  But four AP classes is kind of ridiculous, and I already have four History credits instead of the required three, because I did take AP European History last year.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean gasped.  “Are you sure you’re not Einstein reincarnated as some punk?”

Cas laughed and shook his head slightly.  “That’s a nice compliment, but no.  I’m just Cas,” he said with a faint smile on his lips.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, an hour before school started, Cas took his AP Calculus test.  He thought the test was pretty decent, especially considering how hard he studied last night.  He and Dean stayed until their typical five-thirty time before parting ways.  Dean told him to, “Not stay up too late, you dork.  Sleep is good for people.”

When Cas got home he studied on and off, he made sure to eat dinner during an “off” time, and, like Dean said, get to bed at a reasonable time.  So come the next morning, he was fully prepared and had enough sleep to get him through the day.  After he completed his test, and turned it in, Cas pulled out an old book.  It was The Hobbit, a book he had read a thousand and one times, but it was one of his favorites.

Apparently it wasn’t going to be a typical day reading after a test, because Cas only got another ten pages in his book until he realized that the red head sitting in front of him had swiveled around and was staring at his book.  With his bookmark now marking his place, Cas placed his book down to look at the classmate staring at him.

She had fair lightly tanned skin and high cheekbones.  Her eyes were sparkling in what appeared to be awe, and they were focused on The Hobbit’s book cover.  Her hair was a brilliant orange that Cas couldn’t help but wonder if he could try and replicate in paints, it was a feisty color.  She hardly wore any make up, but she still looked attractive.  Overall the girl in front of him looked beautiful in the sense that she seemed like she didn’t care what others thought about her, however was still glowing.

There was still something that Cas was missing though.  He had seen this face before, somewhere, he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it.  Maybe he had seen her around school, maybe in other classes.  But, Cas hardly paid any attention to the kids around him, that’s probably why he just now noticed her.

Finally Castiel made the first move and whispered harshly, “Can I help you with something?”

The smaller girl seemed startled that Castiel was actually talking to her.  “Um, no,” she finally mumbled back.  “It’s just your book.  It’s one of my favorites, and, I dunno, I didn’t expect you to read it.  Do you like it?”

Jesus Christ, what was with everyone thinking he was a hopeless, illiterate punk?  Even this girl, who was in his AP Calculus class, was only looking at him as an outer shell.  Lost in his thoughts, Castiel hardly even realized that this girl was still babbling on.

“Not that you’re not smart enough to read Tolkien,” she continued.  “But, it’s not like a lot of kids read his works anymore.  I just meant in the sense that, ‘hey look another senior reads a great book series!’  Sorry if I offended-”

Cas laughed harshly in the middle of this girl’s sentence.  God she could talk, but hey, at least she said stuff Cas could agree with.  And even he was wrong about her, she didn’t judge Castiel at all, maybe he was wrong about everyone.  Castiel quickly calmed himself down once he remembered others were taking a test.

“Charlie Bradbury,” the girl said, her hand fully extended at Cas’ chest.

Castiel just eyed the hand venomously, before this girl, Charlie, lowered it in part shame.  Once her arm was down by her side Cas whispered, “Castiel.”

“Yeah, I know who you are.  Well I guess, everyone knows you are.  I just happen to know you from the GSA meetings,” the girl mumbled back.

That’s where Cas knew her from!  When he occasionally would show up for an easy lay.  Wow did he suddenly feel cheap.  “Oh, right,” he said sheepishly.

“Hey, don’t sweat it.  If you can’t get laid after a GSA meeting, you don’t have any game at all,” Charlie whispered back, with a wink.

Cas chuckled into his hand and looked around the classroom.  Nearly everyone had finished the test expect for the Sophomore.  But Cas gave serious props to that kid, he couldn’t imagine taking a test five grades above the average.

“Well, not to be rude,” Cas said, looking back to Charlie.  “But I’ve read this book a dozen times, and I’m nearing my favorite part, and I really don’t feel like talking while I read.”

Charlie’s cheeks seemed to redden at Cas’ comment, and she quickly turned around after mumbling a small, “Sorry.”

The rest of Castiel’s day was uneventful.  He went to his classes, yelled at a group of Juniors who were crowding the Senior hall.  But really, he was doing everyone a favor.  Hot shot Juniors who think that they’re the shit annoyed Castiel more than hot shot Seniors.  The only semi-eventful thing that happened to Cas was he didn’t run into Dean once that day.  Not even at the hallway where Dean blocked Castiel every, single, day.

However at their typical time, Dean strolled in the art room, wearing his Letterman Jacket.  “Hey, Cas,” he said.

Cas looked over his shoulder and said, “Hello, Dean.”

Dean and Cas quickly fell back into rhythm, not once mentioning the lack of seeing each other that day.  Before Dean arrived, Cas stripped down into just his undershirt and skinny jeans.  He cracked open the window and let himself get lost in artwork.  Lucifer was coming along perfectly.  If Cas continued at this pace, he would be done before the deadline.

At the moment, Cas was working on adding final details to Lucifer’s clothing.  He didn’t want what the archangel to have extravagant clothes or anything that would take away from his face.  So, Cas decided to go simple and focus on gray tones.  Originally, Cas sketched for Lucifer to be wearing a thin, stale gray, jacket with a dim gray undershirt.  His arms would be crossed in front of his chest, and a few blood splotches would be painted on his shoulders.

So far, everything was coming together nicely.  Cas had the outfit complete and was just working on shading Lucifer’s arms and adding the blood splotches.  Dean, on the other hand, was really close to finishing Raphael.

The day before proved to be extremely beneficial for Dean.  Without the two boys talking every twenty seconds or moving around, Dean was able to make some serious progress.  When Dean pulled his painting over to Cas and plopped down next to him, Cas couldn’t help but praise Dean on how far he had come.  All that was left were small details and shading that had to be fixed.

“So,” Dean said as he worked on shading Raphael’s suit.  “How did your test go?”

“It went well,” Cas responded.  “I got a ninety-three, so I’m not going to complain.”

“Holy shit, a solid A, in AP Calculus?  Cas, that’s incredible!  My friend, Charlie, who apparently is in that class too, said she only scored an eighty-two.”

Charlie, Cas knew that name.  Didn’t he just meet her?  “Charlie,” Cas repeated.  “Long, red, curly hair?”

“As gay as the Fourth of July?”  Cas nodded at that.  “Yup, that’s the one.  She said she saw you reading The Hobbit, didn’t know you were in to that kind of shit.”

Cas groaned and bumped his shoulder against Dean’s.  “What are you?”

Dean shrugged.  “I mean I haven’t read the books, but the movies are pretty great.  Sammy and I typically have movie marathons on New Year’s Eve instead of watching the ball drop.”

“Sammy?”  Cas repeated.

“Oh, my baby brother,” Dean said with a fond smile.  “And when I say ‘baby brother’, I mean that lightly.   The kid is fourteen years old, almost as tall as me, and has surpassed my intelligence.  You would like him though, you’re both nerds.  But when you meet him, call him Sam.  He hates Sammy with a passion, but I can’t seem to let the nickname go.”

When.

When you meet him.

That would suggest that Dean wanted Cas to meet his brother, to meet his family.  Cas could tell that Sam was important to Dean.  He talked very highly of his brother; Dean was probably the brother that threatened to get in a fight if Sam was ever hurt.  The thought made Cas smile to himself.

Castiel on the other hand, would never want Dean to meet his brother’s.  They wouldn’t just embarrass him, they would make him look like the schlump of the family that he already knows he is.  Cas only came out of his thoughts when he saw Dean looking at him, waiting.

Cas shook his head.  “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said,” Dean repeated lightly.  “Do you have any siblings?”

“Oh, yeah.  I have two older brothers, I think I’ve mentioned them before.  Gabriel, who is eight years older than me, and Michael, who is ten years older than me,” Cas said.

“Holy shit that’s an age difference,” Dean gasped.  “Would you mind if I asked why?”

Cas shook his head before he responded, “Well I guess you could say my mother and father are very religious people.  Hence why my name is Castiel and my brothers were named after the archangels Michael and Gabriel.  When they first got married they originally wanted three kids, don’t ask me it has something to do with three being the magical number with prophecies in the bible.

Anyway, they had Michael and they had Gabriel, two down, one to go right?  They kept trying after Gabe, but after two years I guess they decided that it wasn’t meant to be.  Well I guess you could say that I was an accident, because I do not believe my parents were trying for a kid eight years after Gabe.  But when they found out, they both believed it to be a sign from God that they were getting their third child.  After that, my parents seemed to devote their entire life to spreading the word of God.

If I’m going to be honest with you, I think it’s complete bullshit.  I hardly ever see my parents anymore because they travel nationwide to spread their word, and they hardly treat me like some ‘miracle.’  Can’t even remember the last time they told me they loved me.”

“Jesus, Cas, that’s awful.  And are your brothers like complete douche bags to you, too?”  Dean asked, concern obvious in his tone.

Cas shook his head reassuringly.  “Not really,” he said.  “They helped raise me after my parents left to travel America, so I can’t complain.  Michael is very successful now and Gabe is on his way.  Truth is, I haven’t really seen my brothers for over seven years, unless you count the holidays.”

“What do they do?  If you mind me asking,” Dean said.

Cas waved his hand at Dean.  Honestly, he kind of liked bragging about his brothers.  He never got to talk about his family around his friends.  “Michael is a doctor.  He grew up with my religious parents the most, so he takes after them the most.  He believes in God enough to tell a patient to have faith, and is intelligent and dedicated enough to make sure his job is done right so they don’t have to rely on God.

The reason I don’t see him a lot, is due to the fact that he moved out to New York and is currently engaged.  Gabe, however, is in California because of his dream to make it in the media world.  Seven years ago he moved out there to try and pursue a directing career for television and movies.  For four years he did little stuff, wrote a few TV shows, collaborated with a few directors, and even directed a few TV shows by himself.

He was lucky and got his big break after four years of trying.  One of his newer writer friends approached him one day with an idea for a soap opera medical show, shit, I think it’s called Dr. Sexy M.D.  Anyway, that took off, became a pretty big success, and its third season just started to air.”

“Wait, your brother created Dr. Sexy?”  Dean asked.

“That’s what you took out of that?”  Cas asked sarcastically.  Dean nodded his head and Cas sighed, “Yes.  Well co-created it is the correct term.  If you look at the ending credits it says ‘creators: Gabriel Novak and Chuck Shurley.’  But I think the real question I should be asking is, you actually watch that?”

“Hell yeah,” Dean exclaimed.  “It’s a good show!  It’s got drama, humor, and some really sexy nurses.”

Cas groaned into his hands.  It wasn’t a bad show, sure, he just didn’t like it very much.  “Anyway,” he continued.  “You can see why I get overlooked as the High School kid who won’t do anything with his life.”

“Your parents say that?”  Dean asked, outraged.

“No, but they certainly think it.  They don’t necessarily agree with the career I want to pursue,” Cas mumbled.

“And what career is that?”  Dean asked.

“I want to write.  I don’t know if I want to be a journalist or a novelist, but I want to share my views and opinions with the world,” Cas responded.

Dean nodded at that.  “I can tell you would be good.  And fuck whoever doesn’t agree.  You’re, without a doubt, the most complex person I have ever met,” he finally said.

Cas felt his cheeks heat up, so he quickly turned away from Dean to continue on Lucifer.  It still surprised Cas how genuinely nice Dean was to him.  He had no reason to do, he wasn’t family, it was his choice.  Just the thought of that made Cas’ stomach backflip.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day followed much like the last, including the lack of seeing Dean in the hallway.  Castiel found that he really enjoyed not having to put on fake snarl and argue with Dean.  It was hard finding things to argue about, except for when he took up space in the hallway, which was still annoying.  After really getting to know Dean, Cas found that most everything he accused Dean of was wrong and it was hard to pretend to still be that ignorant.

Dean wasn’t self-centered, not really.  His coaches were the reason he was cocky during baseball season.  He was treated like some God when it came to the game.  It didn’t help that his team mates followed in their coaches’ example.  Cas learned that Dean didn’t really care about that.  As long as his brother, Sam, thought he was “cool”, then he was.

He was also extremely kind and a lot gentler than Cas originally expected.  Dean had the body of a typical jock.  Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, clean face, and a strong build.  Just by looking at him, Cas thought he could beat the shit out of him.  But after knowing him for a few weeks, Cas knew Dean wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless Sam, or someone close to him, was threatened.

More importantly Cas found out that, like himself, Dean put on a fake rough exterior.  On the inside Dean was just as nerdy, if not more, than Cas.  That thought made Castiel feel the most secure when he was with Dean.  He could easily share his opinions on Star Wars, or Marvel comics, or Harry Potter and he knew that Dean would acknowledge his opinion and say something, worth hearing, back.

Just like the last day, Dean came strolling in the art room, after school, wearing his Letterman Jacket.  He pulled up his almost completed painting of Raphael and sat down next to Cas.  Cas looked over at the painting once Dean was settled and said, “Hey, you’re really close.  You could probably finish today.”

Dean smiled and picked up his favorite paint brush.  “Probably,” he repeated.

The two boys got to work soon after that.  Cas noticed that Dean was really intent on finishing the small details to Raphael.  After all, why wouldn’t he be?  They only had two and a half weeks left to finish and turn in their angels.  Cas was also close to finishing, himself.  He only had one section left to do, and that was the hair.

Cas had been able to put the final touches on Lucifer’s clothing before the final bell rang.  All that was left to do was finish the hardest part, in Castiel’s opinion, the hair.  It didn’t sound like a hard thing and he could sketch hair perfectly fine.  But when it came to painting, Cas always struggled.  Either the shading wasn’t right, or the hair looked too unrealistic, either way, it was always something.

He was so desperately looking for an excuse to procrastinate.  Luckily, Dean provided him one when he said, “Y’know I mentioned your name in front of Sammy.  He totally flipped out that I knew you.  Said you were on the debate team, or some shit, and said you were good.”

Cas froze a little in his seat.  That was something no one should know about.  “How does your younger brother know that?” he finally asked, slowly.

“Like I said, Sammy’s real smart,” Dean said.  “He joined the debate team around the time school started and he said that the debate coach raves about you, that you were one of the best.”

Cas nodded slowly.  “I suppose I was.  It was back when I was a Freshman and I was trying to prove myself,” Cas said.  “I joined, got really into it, won a few tournaments here and there, and was lucky enough to qualify to a national tournament.  I made it all the way to octa finals, but lost to some girl from Illinois.”

Cas turned to Dean when he was finished.  He saw Dean’s mouth gaping open and he couldn’t help but chuckle at that.  “What?”  He finally asked.

“You are joking, right?  That’s incredible, but are you sure you’re not, like, some kind of genius?  Are you the kind of kid that listens to Mozart and Beethoven in their sleep?”  Dean asked, sarcastically.

Cas chuckled in response.  “No but, I do enjoy listening to Linkin Park and Breaking Benjamin while finishing papers.”

Dean laughed hard.  Cas couldn’t help but chuckle himself.  It wasn’t everyday you find a clever High School student listening to heavy rock and metal from the late 1990's.  Once Dean composed himself he asked, “Why didn’t you do it again?”

“What?  Debate?”

Dean nodded.

“I wanted to.  I tried,” Cas said.  “But that was the summer I started to get my piercings, so come school time I already had four piercings on my ears, and the ring piercing on my nose.  I asked the debate coach if I could come back, but he turned me down.  He said I didn’t have the look of a debater anymore, and that he had to cut me loose.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean huffed out.  “You seriously weren’t kidding about even the teachers treating you like shit.”

Cas shook his head slowly.  He really did enjoy debate.  He loved arguing with other students and proving them wrong with evidence.  It was a great way to share his opinions, but even that was taken away from him.

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” Dean said again.  “If you ever want to semi get back into it, I know one nerdy Freshman who would love your advice.”

Cas smiled and said, “You’ve got yourself a deal, Winchester.”

After that most conversation stopped.  Time was becoming more and more limited, and both boys wanted to turn in their projects on time.  For Dean, this could mean finishing today.  For Cas, this meant trying to figure out a way to execute and paint Lucifer’s hair correctly.

Dean ended up finishing Raphael later that evening.  After only an hour extra work Dean stood up, backed away from his painting, and stared at it.  Cas only realized that Dean was gone, when he noticed the absent warmth that was typically at his side.  He turned around and saw Dean squinting at his work, and that’s when Cas saw it.

Raphael looked truly mesmerizing.  Staring back at Castiel was a fierce, black, business woman, with her arms at her side.  Her eyes were staring down at Cas, and seemed to intimidate him.  In one of her hands she held a thin, short, metal sword, which Dean believed, and explained to Cas, that the angels used in combat to kill one another.

The wings behind Raphael was the most breathtaking portion of the painting.  They curved up and around her head, before curling down, until finally it was cut off due to the fact that the painting went as far down as Raphael’s waist.  The wings weren’t whole, but instead a series of lightning bolts connected and arranged to form the shape of wings.

Cas thought that the painting was beautiful and he praised Dean for it.  “Holy fuck,” he said.  “Dean this is, quite possibly, the greatest thing I have ever seen.  You surpassed my own angel wings tattoo and everything.  Seriously, you should be proud, really.  It’s amazing.”

The smile Dean flashed at Cas was probably the best thing that had ever happened in that shabby, little, art room.  Cas could tell it was a full and genuine smile, Dean only saved for special moments.  Cas had only seen this smile one other time, and that was when Dean was bragging about Sam for the first time.

Cas presented Dean a real smile back.  For once, Cas was truly was happy for someone besides himself.  That hadn’t happened in years, and the last time it did, it was when Michael had gotten engaged to his beautiful fiancée, Anna. **  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I believe an apology is in order on my part. I honestly cannot believe it has been a month-ish since I last updated! As you might have guessed things have been super crazy for me, or else I would’ve given you a heads up for my absence. What can I say? Softball takes over my life until the end of July and I try and commit myself to attending tournaments and games instead of writing 24/7. That being said I only had nights, when I’m not totally exhausted, to write and edit.  
> But enough bad news, here’s the good news! Softball is done for the rest of the Summer and I should be updating at least once a week, depending on how quickly I breeze through writing a chapter. It doesn’t sound like I’ll have any long breaks in between now and the end of the story. If something sudden does arise, like a vacation or crazy SAT prep, I’ll make sure to add something in the notes.  
> Once again I’d like to apologize on my part… I didn’t mean to not update like this. Thank you all for reading, really it means a lot. I do hope this chapter is up to par. Also, if you don’t already know my tumblr can be found [here](deanreborn.tumblr.com) . I post updates on my chapters and I can be reached here almost all day. So, without further ado, happy reading! :)

One downside of Raphael’s completion that Castiel never realized, was now Dean had no real reason to return to the art room the next day.  Cas figured this would happen at some point, after all they couldn’t keep this up forever.  Dean had friends to go back to, friends who probably wondered where he disappeared off to for the past couple of weeks.  Cas always knew that deep down, he was just a temporary friend Dean would eventually ditch when need be.  Still, Castiel didn’t expect the realization to hurt that bad.

Castiel really didn’t know what it was that hurt so bad.  Maybe it was the fact he had shared so much personal information to Dean, more than he ever had before.  Maybe it was the fact that Dean was so nice, so genuinely nice, that it hurt to know he would never see that side again.  Maybe it was because Cas knew he was seeing a side of Dean he actually liked and continually wanted to see that side of Dean.

Whatever it was, Cas knew he was missing something when he sat in his stool, alone in the art room that day.  He had his headphones in, which helped eliminate the silence the room emitted, but still lacked in, well, Dean-ness.

What was the frustrating Castiel the most, probably more so than Dean’s disappearance, was that he still didn’t know how to successfully paint Lucifer’s hair.  Painting hair with thick paints on a canvas was entirely different from using charcoal or a pencil on a sketchpad.  With paint, colors had to be blended and used multiple times to give off the proper effect, instead of smudging, or even erasing, what was unnecessary when using a pencil.

That was the kind of thing that Cas still struggled with, even after years of trying to perfect it.  With a groan, Castiel ran his fingers through the different colors of yellow and brown he had squirted from the bottles onto a plastic plate.  What was probably the most provoking part of this, was that Castiel already had the perfect dark brown base color mixed right in front of him.  He was just too scared to paint in fear that he will mess up his angel.

The only good thing that happened to Castiel was Breaking Benjamin’s _Dear Agony_ started to play, which really put Cas in a good mood.  Music and art seemed to have a very positive effect on the teenager.  With a small boost of confidence, Cas lifted up his two fingers smothered in paint, and began to color in the base of Lucifer’s hair.

He only got through _Dear Agony_ and half way through the next song of Breaking Benjamin’s, _The Diary of Jane_ , before an outside noise disrupted his entire working process.  And honestly, what the fuck?  No one had bothered him before while he was with Dean.  Who could possibly be talking behind him?  And why?

Annoyed, Castiel ripped out his headphones and spun around in his stool.  Honestly whoever the fuck this was, they were really getting on his nerves.  “Listen,” Cas began.  “I think it’s great that you’re down here, really, finishing art is great.  But, who the fuck talks behind someone when obviously they’re trying to-”

And holy shit.  As Castiel dragged his eyes up from the teenager’s torso and up to his face, Cas knew he made a big mistake acting snarky.  He had a broad and muscular build, but as Cas’ eyes dragged upwards, exposed delicate, and soft, facial features.  By the looks of the boy he would sound contradicting and awkward, but really it made him all the more beautiful.

“Gee Cas,” that familiar voice said lightly.  “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel.”

“No, shit, Dean I didn’t mean _you._ I thought you were a Freshman talking too loudly to get my attention,” Cas said defensively.

Dean chuckled and sat down next to Cas, like nothing had changed.  “Nah,” he replied.  “Just me.”

Cas didn’t know if Dean meant for that to sound like an insult, but for Cas this was the best scenario that could’ve happened to him.  He really, truly, believed that Dean would never want to see him again.  For Dean to be sitting here, like nothing had changed, and will change, meant the world to Castiel.

“Sorry, I just didn’t think you would come back is all,” Cas said sheepishly.

Dean twisted in his seat over to face Castiel.  He furrowed his brows and after a few seconds, looked at Castiel and asked, “Why would you think that?”

Cas shrugged back.  “Well, there’s no real reason for you to be down here, you’re done with Raphael.  Why stay here and watch me finish when you could be with your friends?”

“Cas, believe it or not, I enjoy your company,” Dean said with a small smile.  “And besides, I want to see how Lucifer turns out.  It’s only fair.”

Cas looked down at his feet, with a small smile of his own.  Sometimes Castiel just couldn’t believe that the teenager sitting next to him was real.  That someone like _Dean_ actually wanted to spend time with him, and was so freakishly nice in the process, was beyond Cas.

When Cas looked back up, he noticed that Dean was still looking at him.  Dean’s face looked so much softer than before, so much fonder.  Cas couldn’t help the blush that spread across his cheeks, and up to his ears, because, wow, this was Dean.  Sure Cas, maybe, had some feelings that were past friendship for Dean.  But never in a million years, would Cas ever expect Dean to look at him like that.

Dean must have noticed Castiel’s eyes back on him because his head snapped in the other direction, a faint pink coloring his cheeks.  Cas awkwardly looked the other direction, as well.  Partly because he was giddy, partly because he didn’t want Dean to feel awkward, but mainly so his cheeks cool down and he could recompose himself.

“It might take a while though,” Cas finally said, even though the two still weren’t looking at each other.

“What?”

“Lucifer, I mean.  The hair is still a work in progress and you know I struggle with it,” Cas replied, craning his head enough for him to get a look at his painting, but nor far enough to see Dean.

“What are you talking about, dude?”  Dean asked, and suddenly his eyes were also on Castiel’s painting.

“You’ve got a great base color set,” Dean continued.  “You don’t know how many people go for a light base first and then try and shade with darker tones.”

“It’s a hell of a lot harder,” Cas agreed.

“Exactly,” Dean exclaimed.  “Now all you have left is adding the clumps of hair, forming the different shades, creating the flow and the style, keeping the effect, oh and texture.  Lots, and lots of texture.”

“Gee when you say that, it makes it sound so simple,” Cas shot back, sarcastically.

“Shut up.  I’ll be here the whole time to help you,” Dean said, softer this time.

Cas could still faintly see pink flakes on Dean’s cheeks, when he looked at him.  He gave Dean a small smile and said, “Thank you.”

Dean shrugged it off like it was nothing.  Because really, it was, nothing.  This was something typical friends did for each other, stay back with them and help if need be.  All this shouldn’t mean that much to Castiel, but it does, and he doesn’t exactly know why.

That day, and the rest of the week that followed, proved to be very beneficial for Castiel.  Like Dean promised, he was there every afternoon to provide the extra boost that Cas needed once and a while.  First Cas wanted advice on where to add the thick strokes to the base to create the clumps of hair.  Cas also decided to go a little lighter, as this is technically a second base for the later details to come.

After Dean praised Cas, he started to feel really good about what he was doing on his own.  Cas found himself adding several layers to the hair clumps, mainly by himself.  Only a small amount of approval was given on Dean’s part.  Keeping the slightly spiked flow of the hair was simple for Castiel.  He made sure to move his fingers in the same way repeatedly, until it almost became second nature to run his fingers up and down the canvas.

What was really becoming a problem, was the damn texture and keeping the shading accurate to what was already painted.  Honestly, what was Castiel thinking?  Why wait for the hair to be painted last, knowing this was the weakest aspect for him.  It probably took him twice, if not three, times as long to finish compared to a normal art student.

In the end, the texture and the details came together.  There were sections of Lucifer’s hair that were thinner than others, and other sections that were thicker, like real hair would look.  Using his own hair as reference, Cas also had small sections of Lucifer’s hair stick up in other directions.  However what Castiel was really proud of, was the small strands of hair he was able to create by using his fingernail as opposed to the pad of his finger.

Half a week after starting the hair, Cas was coming to a finish.  All that was left was to add the shading to connect the hair, to the face, to the body, so Lucifer could look completed and whole.  With an exasperated sigh, Cas asked Dean, “Hey, would you mind helping me?”

“What with?”  Dean asked back.

“The shading already there?  I’m not quite sure how to make it all flow and look connected,” Cas said, a tad disappointed.

“Of course,” Dean replied.  “Would you mind if I showed you, though?  It’s a lot harder to explain.”

Cas nodded in agreement.  Honestly, he could use all the help Dean was offering to give.

“Okay,” Dean said as he rose from his stool.  He moved half a step over so he was standing behind Cas, and then reached his hands out over Cas’ shoulders to reach the canvas.

Dean chuckled and dipped his fingers in the paints Cas had mixed out in front of them.  Cas noticed that Dean decided to pick from the lighter end of the shades as opposed to the darker ones.  “I can’t believe I’m getting my hands dirty in paint for you.”

Cas almost shivered at Dean’s words.  With Dean’s hands so outstretched in front of the two of them, that left his head practically resting on Castiel’s shoulder.  So when Dean spoke, well rather whispered due to his location, Cas could hear every word distinctly.

“Basically what I’m going to do is add lighter tones, while smudging the darker ones you already have, to reflect the fire you already put down,” Dean whispered.  “Make sense?”

Cas nodded in affirmation.  Honestly, he couldn’t trust his voice.  Dean was so close.  He could practically hear Dean’s breathing, and could feel his chest brush occasionally against the thin undershirt Cas had on.

Dean continued his method of shading, spreading and lightening, for a few minutes before he spoke again.  “Give me your hands.”

And holy shit, _what_?  This, Castiel knew, had to be a dream.  Or at least a joke.  Because there was no way Dean Winchester, the one hundred percent _straight_ baseball captain, just asked Castiel for _his_ hands.

“What?”  He asked in disbelief.

“Your hands, give them to me.  I want to show you what I’m doing, so you can do it for yourself,” Dean answered.

With a nonphysical shrug, Cas moved his hands up to link with Dean’s.  Cas quickly decided that it could’ve been a lot worse.  Dean’s hands were gentle and, surprisingly, soft.  He moved his hands with enough dominance to teach Cas what he was doing, but gentle enough so nothing was smudged and made Cas felt comfortable.

Honestly Cas didn’t know if it was hours or minutes that passed by since his fingers locked with Dean’s.  Rationally, it was the latter.  In Castiel’s mind, it didn’t matter.  Everything felt soft and at one point he even forgot he was finishing Lucifer.

Cas was only thrown out his trance when Dean slipped his fingers away from his own.  “Alright, think you got the hang of it?”

“Uh, yeah, totally.”  That was only a half lie.  Cas knew what Dean was doing when he was doing it on his own, not when he held Castiel’s hands.

With steady hands, Cas dipped his fingers in the golden color Dean had been using before.  He brought his fingers up to the heavily worked section, and repeated the movements Dean taught him.  A few minutes into it on his own, Cas noticed that Dean was still hovering behind him.

In fact it felt like he hadn’t moved.  Even his arms were still in front of Castiel’s body, except now they were more relaxed.  Draped over his shoulders and hanging down Cas’ body.  Cas shifted slightly and craned his neck, not enough to disrupt Dean’s comfortable position, but enough to get a look at him.

“Is this right?”  Cas asked, hesitantly.

Dean hummed lazily, before he dragged his eyes away from Cas and over to Lucifer.  With a small nod of approval Dean shifted his gaze back to Cas.  “Yeah, looks great.”

Cas smiled.  However, it only took a few seconds for his focus to change from painting an arch angel, to admiring the teenager in front of him.  Dean was so close.  He was close enough that Cas could almost count Dean’s freckles.  Freckles that Cas just now knew existed.  They were hard to see, but now after seeing them this close and counting almost fifty, how could he forget?

They were close enough that Cas could see his reflection in Dean’s eyes.  Dean’s eyes that were the perfect shade of green.  They were bright and hopeful, and Cas just wanted to stare at them for hours.  And holy fuck, his lips.  Castiel had never seen anything more perfect in his entire life.  They were the perfect shade of pink and perfectly full.  Castiel decided that Dean Winchester was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  If he could, he would paint Dean for the rest of his life.

It wasn’t his fault that all Cas wanted to do was kiss Dean’s lips, find out what they felt like, what they tasted like.  But it was his fault that he leaned in, to find out.  It wasn’t his fault when Cas snapped back to reality only to find Dean doing the same.  Shit they were so close, mere inches away from each other.  He could feel Dean’s lips hovering over his own.  And it definitely wasn’t Cas’ fault, when he heard loud footsteps echoing outside the art room and saw a tall figure appear in their doorframe, staring at them, eyes blown out of his head.

_No, this could not be happening,_ Cas thought as he pulled back from Dean’s face, looked over Dean’s shoulder, and glared at the kid in the door frame.  He was tall, lanky, kind of awkward looking like he had just started to go through puberty.  He had a mop of brown hair that fell slightly into eyes, and delicate features.  Personally, Castiel found him kind of odd.  Probably due to the fact the kid was going through puberty as a junior.

But hey, he was kind of pissed.  Just as Castiel was starting to understand his feelings for Dean and have some hunch that Dean maybe felt the same way, some hot shot Junior had to ruin it.

“Look,” Cas snapped.  Even this seemed to get Dean’s attention as he turned his head to see what had interrupted them.

“I think it’s great that you’ve come down here to seek help in class.  Really, go art!  But Ms. Barnes isn’t here, actually she doesn’t stay after school hours, past three o’clock.  So how about trying to catch her tomorrow, and in the mean time you learn your limbs?  Because honestly, kid, uh, moose-thing, I don’t know what I’m looking at.  Really, great meeting you, but as you can see I’m kind of in the middle of something-”

“Woah, hey, Cas,” Dean interjected politely.  “No, no, this is my brother, not some Junior.”

Well that just about confirmed all of Castiel’s suspicions whether or not the kiss was going to become a reality.

Wait Dean’s brother?

“Hold on, your brother, Sam?”  Cas asked.  “The _Freshman_?”

Dean chuckled.

“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding when you said he was a giant,” Cas said in disbelief.

“Dean,” Sam barked, ignoring Castiel entirely.  “You promised you’d pick me up from Debate at four o’clock.  It’s four thirty, and we need to get home.”

“What no it’s not, it’s only-” Dean stopped himself when he tilted his head up and noticed that, it was indeed, past four thirty.

“Oh shit, Sammy, I’m so sorry.”  Dean quickly untangled his arms and head away from Cas to grab his abandoned jacket and backpack.

Dean was almost out the door, with Sam, when he stopped and abruptly said, “Quick introductions first.  Cas, you know my brother, Sam.  Sammy, this is Castiel Novak.”

Sam’s mouth instantly dropped open and he gaped for a few seconds.  “You’re Castiel?”  He managed to ask.

“Afraid so,” Cas said with a small smirk.  “Let me guess, coach still brags about his star pupil?”

“Doesn’t shut up about you,” Sam exclaimed.  “He still has your rounds and cases saved.  Actually he used to play them when we were first learning how to build arguments.”

Cas chuckled.  “Well tell the old geezer I say hello.  And I doubt your dork of a brother passed along the message, but I’m always here to help you build your cases, even though I’m not on the team.”

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

Sam smiled, which vaguely reminded Cas of how a five year old would look like on Christmas.

“Well,” Dean cut in.  “I hate to break up the bromance, really I do, but Sam’s right we should go home.  I’ll see you tomorrow, okay Cas?”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

 

* * *

 

 

Cas didn’t see Dean the next day.

Or the day after that.

In fact, Dean wasn’t even there when Castiel finished Lucifer.

Cas finished Lucifer three days after Dean walked out on him with Sam.

The first day after, Castiel really did think Dean was coming down to meet him.  Dean did promise to be there to help, be there to see him to the end.  If Castiel had taken anything away from his time with Dean, it’s that he was a good person.  Even if he did hide it most of the time, Castiel truly believed he would keep his word.  How naïve and childish Cas was acting.

If Dean truly were the good man Castiel believed him to be, he would be here right now.  Not lying to Cas; leading him on with that almost kiss, promising to see him again, and then not following through with his words.  Dean would be here, ready to talk it out like friends did.  Or did he lie about that part too?  Cas didn’t need this in his life, he couldn’t accept having someone, as insufferable as Dean Winchester, into his life just to boil his blood even more.

Castiel only put his headphones on to listen to music after half an hour of waiting.  It was by that time that he realized he was being stood up and Cas kept telling himself that he didn’t care.  Because he didn’t care.  At all.  He didn’t care that the one person he opened up to, ended up shutting his walls back down within a matter of minutes.  He didn’t care that the one person who, wasn’t covered in black, liked him for him, just walked out of his life forever.  He especially didn’t care that the one person he liked, truly _liked_ , never wanted to see him again.

He didn’t care.

He _couldn’t_ care.

Castiel couldn’t let this spiral into something it obviously never should be.  In the back of his mind he always knew this was coming.  In fact, he vaguely remembered thinking these exact same thoughts earlier this week.  Dean was temporary, he knew that.  He knew that outside the art room, he was supposed to hate Dean for everything he stood for.  But how could he?

Although this did make things easier.  Just remembering this moment, helped.  He wouldn’t let Dean get the upper hand mentally, he couldn’t.  Because Cas will be damned is he lets something this insignificant, turn into a repeat of Freshman year.  And fuck, Freshman year.  Definitely something Cas didn’t like to think about.  However it was like picking at a wound, or ripping off a band aid.  He couldn’t stop, and the pain felt good.

Freshman year for Castiel didn’t start off bad.  Actually, it probably started off as the best year of his life.  He joined the debate team, the newspaper staff, and his teacher quickly recruited him on the yearbook staff.  He received top marks in all of his classes, and not one teacher had anything negative to say about the young boy with a bright future.

One thing couldn’t be denied no matter what angle you took it from, Castiel always had a way with words.  Which was the probably the biggest factor on why did so well when juggling school with extracurriculars.  Completing homework was something that came naturally to him.  Castiel was able to solve advanced math problems with just enough ease as writing a five paragraph essay.  In return, this left him with enough time to sit down and really think about how he wanted to write a debate case, or write an article that would be featured for the school body to read.

It was these little things, trying so hard in everything he did, that set Castiel apart from the rest.  In fact, Castiel was so consumed in his work to try and make his parents’ proud, he hardly kept up with the pre Dean Winchester drama.  He was just another Freshman to Castiel.  An amazing baseball player whose name was passed around here and there, but that never pertained to Castiel.

The combination of Castiel’s hard work and his tolerance for shutting out irrelevant details was the reason he was successful in everything he did.  He was the best debater Kripke High ever had to offer.  The original cases Castiel wrote were hard for a novice to look through and find holes in.  Hard, but not impossible.  Nobody could have a perfect case, which left Cas’ opponent always something to argue against.

Not that Castiel would stop there.  He always had extra articles and arguments handy to bring forth as supporting evidence during his rebuttals.  Not only did this set him far beyond some his competitors, but a leading reason as to why he went far throughout the season.  By the end of regular season in January, Castiel was already set to compete in the National tournament set in Washington D.C. in April.  This was a big feat for not only the young debater, but his coach, and team as well.  No one had ever gotten this far as a representative from Kripke High, this opened new doors for everyone.

It really was unfortunate that Castiel didn’t do as promising as everyone had hoped.  Granted, he did well.  Castiel made it as far as the octafinal rounds where he lost in a 2-1 decision against Bela Talbot, a girl from Illinois.

One thing that helped Castiel throughout his entire debate career was the support Michael and Gabriel gave.  His brothers’ were probably his biggest fans.  They were always there for Castiel, phones handy, to see how each round went.  When he ended up the loser of his final round, Castiel was pretty down on himself.  When he called Gabriel and Michael, they told him he did a fantastic job.  They said everything Castiel wanted to hear.  That they were proud, that he’ll do even better next year that he was talented.  But, it still didn’t feel like enough.

Instead it felt like he failed.  That he wasn’t able to show his brothers how great he really could be.  It felt like this whole year, this whole season, he had been training for this moment, and he blew it.  With more work, he might have had a shot at beating Bela.  So many what if’s continued to run through Castiel’s mind the entire rest of the weekend.  They didn’t stop even after Castiel set foot back in Lawrence, Kansas.

Lucky for Michael and Gabriel, they decided to come back home for the week to support their younger brother through this.  Unlucky for Castiel, Michael and Gabriel were home for the week and the only thoughts running through his mind were negative ones.  He was a screw up, a failure.  Everyone up to this point raved about Castiel.  About how smart the boy was and how much he will achieve in the future.  Looking around him, all Castiel saw was the failure he truly was.  Everything he did didn’t amount to anything.  He couldn’t even do something as simple as win a debate round.

Castiel did his best to avoid his brothers the week they came back.  This seemed to work for the majority of the time. Castiel claimed to have school work that needed to be completed, or an article to write, or was just too tired to go out into town.  Finally during his last dinner back home, Michael seemed to have enough.

“I hope you’re happy with yourself,” Michael, snarled unexpectedly.

Castiel looked over the dinner table, confused.  “What?”

Michael rolled his eyes and repeated, “I hope you’re happy that you shut yourself out from me and Gabriel this week.  We were only trying to help you.”

“Help me?”  Cas asked, startled.  “I’m not in trouble, Michael.  I am perfectly fine.”

Castiel knew that was a pile of bullshit.  He was far from fine.  He knew he let his brothers down once this month.  But two times? This was two too much.  He hardly saw them as is, he didn’t want Michael to go whilst mad with him, and Gabriel to go whilst sad with him.

“Perfectly fine, yeah right,” Michael shot back.  “Have you ever thought that if you stopped wallowing in self-pity for two seconds, you would notice that Gabriel and I are proud of you?”

“Proud of me?”  Cas repeated, voice raising.  “How could you say that?  I let you down, I let my coach down, and I let everyone down.  If I’m not smart enough to win a debate round, how will I be smart enough for the rest of my life?”

“You know, if you stopped feeling sorry for yourself, you would understand that this is not the end of the world.  Far from it, baby bro,” Gabriel interjected.

“What the Hell is this, an intervention?”  Castiel yelled more as a statement, rather than a question.

“Fuck,” Michael mumbled under his breath.  “If we were dealing with someone rational, no.  But Castiel, you’re acting like a child!”

“Me?”  Castiel hissed.  “You’re the own who’s trying to deal with something he doesn’t understand!  Why can’t you let me do this alone?”

“Cassie,” Gabriel added. “There’s nothing to do alone. There’s nothing wrong. You need to relax, and let this one go.”

“God dammit,” Michael mumbled to himself.  “Why were mother and father so keen on having a third child?  Everything would be so much easier if Castiel wasn’t a mistake.”

Castiel heard that.

Heard it as clear as day.

Castiel swallowed the lump in his throat.  “Is that all I am to you?”  He whimpered, “A mistake?”

Michael looked startled, like a deer caught in headlights.  “That’s not what I meant, Castiel.”

“But that’s what you said,” Castiel exclaimed.

He didn’t care that his emotions were running high, or that he was acting childish.  This hurt more than anything else Castiel had experienced over these past few weeks.  And this was his brother, Michael.  He always looked up to him and the way he helped people.  It stung too much, everything was closing in on him.  Everyhing felt like a lie.

“Castiel, please, I didn’t mean that,” Michael said, softly, as he reached out for Castiel.  It was then that Castiel realized that everyone was on their feet, food abandoned, silverware splattered around the table.

“Don’t touch me,” Castiel cried as he reserved in on himself.

“Castiel-” Gabriel tried to say.

“Don’t touch me,” Castiel repeatedly mumbled, slowly backing away from his family.

He didn’t care what Michael and Gabriel had to say to him. He didn’t care what other lies they threw at him. He didn’t care. Castiel knew the truth now, knew that he was some mistake his parents were ashamed of. Maybe that’s why they travelled around the country, to be away from Castiel. If he were truly their ‘miracle’ why did he only see them through video feeds?

Castiel continued to back away from Michael and Gabriel until his back was up against the front door. Tears stung in his eyes, his lips were trembling. He knew he was about to cry, but he couldn’t cry here, not like this. Silently Castiel slipped out the main door and onto the pathway outside his house.

Without looking back, Castiel sprinted. He didn’t know where he was going, and frankly he didn’t care. All he knew is he had to get away from this god damn house. Away from the lies, away from the pain, he needed to go somewhere reserved, away from the rest of the world.

The thing that hurt Castiel the most was that he knew Michael had told him the truth. For years it had bothered that Gabriel was always eight years older than he was. They hardly went to school together. By the time Castiel entered Middle School, as a sixth grader, Gabriel was on his way to graduate.

Tears started to stream down Castiel’s face as he ran. Every thought in his head urged him to not go back, to keep running. Everything added up, which didn’t reduce the pain he felt. It stung, deep.

It had always felt like something was missing when he looked at his family, he always felt odd. In the back of Castiel’s mind, he constantly told himself for years, he was a mistake; that he didn’t belong. Logically it made no sense as to why his parents would wait eight years for another kid. He just hoped, prayed, that it wasn’t true.

That was probably the beginning of when he felt he needed to achieve greatness, to show his parents, he wasn’t a screw up, he could be just as successful. Castiel would deny that until the day he died, but it was true. This, not winning Nationals, not even making it to the top four, was a hard blow. Upsetting his brothers and having Michael yell at him, an even bigger blow. Michael was his family, and up to this point, family was everything to Castiel.

The next time Castiel came to, was when he fell flat on his ass after running into someone, hard.  By looking around, Castiel had a vague idea of where he took himself.  He only ran half a dozen blocks away from his home, several blocks away from the High School.

“Woah, mate,” a smooth British accent said from above Castiel.  He realized that this was the guy he had ran into.  “You need some help there?  You look like shit,” he added.

Castiel snorted and accepted the hand the British guy had offered. Once up, back on his feet, Castiel wiped away the tears staining his cheeks. He knew he looked like crap, he felt like it too. But this was still his home town, he couldn’t embarrass himself over something no one else knew about.

Standing up close, Castiel realized he wasn’t much shorter than the other guy.  Only a few inches off.  He had blond, spiked up hair, and over a dozen piercings on his face.  Castiel counted two lip piercings, two nose piercings, five eye brow piercings, and seven ear piercings.  It hardly seemed to surprise Castiel that on his arm an extravagant tattoo lie, and in his hand a lit cigarette.

“So, what’s a pretty face like yours doing out here all wide eyed and confused?”  The guy asked, effortlessly.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Castiel muttered.

The blond hair guy shrugged in acknowledgement.  “We’ve all got our problems.  Some bigger than others, mine veering more on the smaller side today.  But hey, what’s a little smoke going to do, rather than numb the pain?”

After the, obvious teenager, spoke he took a long drag of his cigarette.  He didn’t seem to stop for anything, preferably wanting to take in as much as he could into his lungs.  Finally he exhaled, deep, with no problem. After he was done, the teenager lowered his hand down to hang by his side.  Castiel was shocked, really this seemed rather harsh on the lungs, yet the smoker had no problem whatsoever.

Castiel knew he was staring at the other in amazement, because the blond hair guy chuckled, and stared right back.  “Where are my manners?”  He asked with fake politeness.  “Balthazar Roche.”

“Castiel Novak.”

Balthazar nodded.  “I’d ask about the name, but I understand the misfortune of having religious parents.”

Castiel chuckled and said bitterly, “Yes well, my parents, although not in the state, always seem to affect my life in one way or another.”

Balthazar didn’t say anything.  Instead he tossed his old cigarette to the ground and smothered the end, still lit, with the tip of his shoe.  Next he shuffled through his jacket pocket until he pulled out two new cigarettes and a lighter.  For the first cigarette he lit the end, popped it in his mouth, and let it hang in between his lips.  The second he held out to Castiel with a crooked smile.

“Oh, no,” Castiel said on impulse.  “I don’t-”

But you know what, fuck it.  Fuck everything his parents had every told him.  Smoking was bad, Castiel knew that, but right now he didn’t care.  Every thought in his mind told him he shouldn’t be alive, he screwed up again, his whole family didn’t need, or want, him. What was the point?  Right now Castiel wanted to feel nicotine and experience the numb feeling it would give him.

“On second thought,” Castiel said as he plucked the cigarette out of Balthazar’s hand.  “I’ll take it.”

Castiel’s first experience was almost his last.  He tried to mimic what Balthazar had done previously, but his original suspicions turned out to be correct what he was gagging not even a full inhale in.  His throat burned and he hardly felt any numbness or high from the nicotine.  In fact all he felt was a too dry throat and left with a disgusting taste in his mouth.

Balthazar smiled, wickedly.  “It takes some getting used to, but trust me when I say it feels amazing now.  Try a few more times, you’ll get the hang of it.”

It took another week until Castiel got the hang of it.  By then Michael and Gabriel left, so it was just him all alone in the big house again.  He was starting to feel better about himself, as well.  After meeting Balthazar outside in the cold January air, he later found him in the Junior hall of Kripke High School. It only took one more meeting until Balthazar took Castiel under his wing and introduced him to his gang of friends, better known as he goths.

It truly was the beginning of an era. The beginning of when Castiel started to experiment and really feel happy, feel good again. The beginning of the Dean Winchester drama. The beginning of everything.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’d really like to make one thing clear before the chapter starts: Cas is still in “flashback mode”. That means the story is still technically during Cas’ Freshman year through his Sophomore year. I’ll make it very clear when the flashback ends and we’re back up to current times, however expect that towards the end of the chapter. I really don’t want any confusion because, personally, I think this year is really critical to understanding Castiel.

The thing was, Castiel didn’t hate what he had started to morph into, after meeting Balthazar. In fact, he enjoyed it. He loved the feeling of contacts rather than thick rimmed glasses. He loved the ideas Balthazar would place in his mind, ideas of tattoos, of piercings, it all sounded exciting in a way that Castiel could truly express himself. But the thing Castiel loved the most were the cigarettes, he became obsessed.

Balthazar was right when he said it was worth it, to feel the nicotine digest into his system. It took a few tries, but it was worth the wait. The first time Castiel experienced the high was during an uneventful day after school. It had only been a week after Castiel met Balthazar, a few days after hanging out with him and smoking behind the school.

It was cliché, in fact everything in Castiel’s life seemed to be a cliché. In one way or another, everything seemed to follow the rules set out during a 1980’s high school movie. Good, nerdy, kid turned rouge by the influence of drugs, and friends. They would all hang out behind the school to smoke, like no one knew what they were doing. If this kept up, Castiel would soon fall in love with the Captain of the Football team. But it didn’t matter, he didn’t care, the high was unlike anything Castiel had experienced.

After first watching Balthazar smoke his cigarette, Castiel had tried mimicking that way best he could. He knew Balthazar was an experienced smoker. He knew the type of method Balthazar was demonstrating was tough, he had tried it before, now it was only used as point of reference. Although Castiel did try to do it differently so it accommodated to him, he still had not experienced this “high”.

After a week of smoking, Balthazar was still Castiel’s main source for cigarettes. Occasionally he would ask others for an extra stick, because Castiel still didn’t purchase his own packs. Or a lighter for that matter. Balthazar handed over a cigarette to Castiel and lit it for him once it was hanging in Castiel’s lips.

Today Castiel tried something a little different than before. Instead of focusing on Balthazar, he focused on himself. Putting the cigarette to his mouth, Castiel pictured it much like a normal person would think of a straw. After he brought his fore finger and his middle finger around to grip the cigarette, Castiel sucked in the cigarette smoke like sucking in water from the straw. The effect was strong enough to stun Castiel to a short inhale exhale, instead of a long drag. Castiel continued this method over, and over, until he started to cough on the smoke.

“Practice makes perfect,” Balthazar muttered, with a wink.

But the feeling coming away was so new, so much different, and actually a _good_ different. Castiel felt buzzed and relaxed’ like nothing in the world mattered any more. The fight he had with Michael and Gabriel, which usually played over and over in his head, washed away into nothingness. He felt normal, happy, almost.

The feeling didn’t last long. At the most, only a couple of minutes. Then Castiel felt distorted and a little light headed. Don’t get him wrong, the aftermath still felt good, just not as impeccable as it did less than ten minutes ago.

That was truly the beginning of Castiel’s smoking addiction. After that, all Castiel wanted was to get his fingers on a cigarette and experience the mind numbing high it offered him. It let him forget about his insecurities, his problems, everything. They made him feel like he was just a kid, a normal kid.

Constantly Castiel would find his fingers twitching with anticipation during classes. Balthazar said this was normal, wanting the feel of the cigarette between your fingers. Wanting the taste in your mouth, going as deep as feeling it in your lungs. And Castiel loved it. The anticipation, the waiting, the joy of receiving a cigarette, the high afterwards. It was exhilarating.

It was such a gradual turn, Castiel didn’t even realize something was wrong. Slowly Castiel began to abandon his friends, Samandriel and Hester, in favor of hanging around Balthazar. He was smooth, interesting, and easy to be around. And it’s not like Balthazar was a dick to Castiel, and thought himself superior. No, Balthazar loved the new kid.

Balthazar was slowly becoming Castiel’s best friend, he just couldn’t pass up any of his suggestions. They were exciting, and new, and not half bad. The first thing to go were Castiel’s thick rimmed glasses in exchange for contacts. Personally Castiel hated the glasses and was glad to see them go. He even went one step ahead and began applying black eyeliner. After wearing glasses for ten years, Castiel felt bare without something, at least, framing his eyes. Even to this day he didn’t leave home without in on.

The piercings came next, and they were Balthazar’s idea. Even Castiel wasn’t 100% okay with the idea when it was first recommended. His old, nerdish, side told him they were permanent, told him his parents would hate it. But Balthazar said otherwise. He was calm, cool, and collective. He told Castiel over, and over, that piercings were hardly anything to worry about. They’re not permeant, at worst Castiel would take them out and let the hole close up. Plus hiding them is easy.

Castiel couldn’t really argue with that logic. It also helped that a larger part of his brain wanted the piercings, wanted to rebel against his parents in some way. It made giving the okay to Balthazar so much easier, as he was the one giving it to Castiel.

At the time, Balthazar worked part-time at _Heaven and Hell’s Artistry,_ he was a paid apprentice to the owner, Crowley. Back then, Balthazar could only do piercings if the customer had given an okay that a kid could do them up. If not the client would be sent to Crowley. Balthazar was also allowed to work the tattoo needle, however it only had to be small projects and the customer had to give their consent.

It was the summer of Castiel’s Freshman year when he got his first piercings on both his right and left ears. Apparently it was the standard way to go for your first piercing, and Castiel wanted to follow it. The only thing worse than getting a piercing without his parents’ consent, was to get an infected piercing without his parents’ consent.

That summer passed within a haze. Castiel vaguely remembered spending every free minute with Balthazar. Occasionally someone would join them, Lilith, Uriel, or Garth, but that was more often than not, when they were catching up for a smoke. Typically it was just Balthazar and Castiel, and it was mainly when Balthazar was supposed to working at _Heaven and Hell’s._ But Castiel was so interested in everything the shop had to offer, he couldn’t keep away.

What Castiel loved most about _Heaven and Hell’s_ were the pictures of the tattoos they had plastered all over the walls, he thought they were interesting and so diverse. It was also quite impressive. Everything from skulls to unicorns, from bears to face portraits, it was incredible. Balthazar repeated over and over that it was to show how vast their areas of expertise were, but Castiel still found it funny that a tattoo of a werewolf was right next to another of a butterfly tramp stamp.

He also loved the faint smoky smell the shop emitted. Castiel couldn’t quite place his finger on why he enjoyed it so much, he just did.   The smell was becoming familiar to him, comforting almost. Castiel felt relaxed and safe in the shop with Balthazar and Crowley. Even Balthazar couldn’t help letting Castiel in as much as he could, he had a soft spot for his new friend.

The night that Castiel received his piercings from Balthazar was uneventful. Well besides the fact that what Balthazar and Castiel were doing was technically illegal. The two teenagers knew that too, but Castiel will be damned is he needs a parental guardian’s consent and their presence in the room in order for this to be legal. Balthazar didn’t seem to mind, or care, as he was technically underage as well. They just wouldn’t tell anybody.

Besides that, nothing went wrong, in fact everything went smooth. Balthazar was charming and talked Castiel through the whole process of what was going on. By the time Balthazar held the gun to the black x’s on Castiel’s earlobes, he was ready for the expected shot of pain.

It didn’t take long for Castiel to fall in love with his piercings. It was probably the biggest fuck you he had ever given his family, and he loved it. He loved being an individual, not the perfect son his parents expected him to be. Castiel felt unique, felt like a one of a kind. He felt confident. Confident enough to even call up Michael and say that he forgave him for all the drama that went down a few months ago. Castiel felt good, felt alive.

That was only the beginning of that Summer’s extravagant changes. Two week after Castiel got his ear piercings he was lounging on _Heaven and Hell’s_ staff only couch with Balthazar. It was a slow day, no appointments that Balthazar could take care of, so the two sat in the back of the store passing a cigarette between them.

Balthazar took a long drag of the shared cigarette. Castiel still didn’t know how he inhaled so much in short a period of time. It was impressive. “So, what do you think?” Balthazar asked, after he exhaled the smoke into the small room.

“Of what, the smoking? Personally I find it cheap, and rather un-classy. I’m disappointed in you,” Castiel said, a small smirk curling up the corners of his lips.

Effortlessly, Balthazar picked up a pillow, which had fallen from the couch, and chucked it at Castiel’s face. After Balthazar was satisfied with the low ‘oof’ Castiel admitted, he deadpanned, “I meant the piercings, you arse.”

Castiel continued to grumble as he slid the pillow off his face and tossed it back on the floor. Still sulking Castiel answered, “I enjoy them. Although the person who gave them to me is a total assbutt, and, technically, did it illegally.”

“Cassie, we made a pact to never discuss it. What if the NSA is listening in on us and we’re sent to jail?”

Castiel let out a huff of laughter. “I don’t think you know how the NSA works.”

“Does anyone really know how the NSA works?” Balthazar asked, eyebrow raised.

Castiel threw his head back and laughed, hard. That shouldn’t have even been funny, it wasn’t even intended as a joke. Castiel blamed the cigarette smoke. Even Balthazar joined in laughing before Castiel came down from that small high. Balthazar hardly found anything political funny. Yup, definitely the cigarette smoke.

“Anyway,” Balthazar started, after he composed himself. “I’m trying to figure out if you want more piercings soon. Technically you’re supposed to wait a while after the starter earrings to get cartilage piercings, but I won’t tell anyone.”

“Technically, that’s another law you’re breaking,” Castiel repeated with a faint smile on his lips. “I’d like at least one more on each ear, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Balthazar nodded and took another long drag of the cigarette between his fingers.   Before he exhaled he passed it on to Castiel. Castiel’s nerves instantly died down as his fingers exchanged with Balthazar’s. Like a routine, he put the cigarette between his lips and took an inhale. The problem with Castiel’s addiction, is that he didn’t even realize it’s a problem until years later.

 

* * *

 

 

The beginning of Sophomore year was definitely the roughest period of time Castiel had ever gone through. His addiction got worse. It wasn’t that he was experiencing family problems, in fact things between his brothers’ had never been better. Gabriel had come to visit Castiel in August, and it was a lot different than their last meeting.

Not surprising in the least, Castiel was out when Gabriel came home. Gabe was shocked, this was so unlike his brother. Typically his Summers were spent in his room reading. It wasn’t until 8 o’clock, an hour after _Heaven and Hell’s_ closed, Castiel returned back home. And boy, was Gabriel shocked to see who had walked through the door.

Over the past seven months Castiel had changed dramatically. The glasses were gone. Only used after Castiel took out his contacts to soak for the night, and that was only when he had to. Instead his eyes were framed with black eyeliner. If anything, that helped his intense blue eyes stick out even more. Five piercings were resting in Castiel’s ears; three on the right and two on the left. Even his fashion sense had changed. Instead of the dorky sweaters and baggy jeans Castiel used to wear every day, he now wore more artsy, band, shirts accompanied with black skinny jeans.

Needless to say, Gabriel’s reaction was priceless when he saw Castiel walk through the door. His first reaction was to launch a pillow at the stranger who walked through the front door, and held out a lollipop to defend himself.

“Woah, Gabriel,” Cas chuckled. And seriously, why the hell is everyone throwing pillows at me? “It’s just me, Castiel.”

_Did his brother’s voice sound lower,_ Gabriel wondered.

“Yeah right,” the older Novak snorted. “Who are you and what have you done with my baby brother?”

“Gabe, it’s me,” Castiel assured.

“Oh, yeah? Then prove it,” Gabriel exclaimed, his lollipop fully extended at Castiel.

“How the Hell am I supposed to prove that?” Castiel asked, sarcastically. He had no idea what Gabe was talking about. He didn’t feel any different from yesterday.

“Okay no way are you my brother,” Gabriel said, as he sniffed the air.

“Gabriel, now you’re acting childish. It’s really me, I don’t even understand why you wouldn’t think it’s me.” Castiel moved over and flopped on the couch. God, he still couldn’t figure out what Gabe’s problem was.

“If you were really Castiel,” Gabriel whispered as he silently approached Castiel. “Then you would be ticklish right here.”

As if on cue right as Gabriel when shouted ‘here’ his fingers launched to Castiel’s neck. Castiel hardly had time to defend himself as he fell into a fit of laughter and muffled screams. It took a few tries, but Castiel was finally able to slap Gabriel’s hands away from the most ticklish spot on his body. This left Castiel in a laughing heap on the couch.

“Gabriel,” he whimpered.

“Yup, you’re Castiel.” Gabe laughed and then sat down next to Castiel. “Hardly recognized you, bro. You look funny without the glasses and sweaters.”

Castiel snorted from his balled position. “You know I hated those retched things.”

Gabriel laughed again. “What changed your mind then? Did you meet someone?”

“It’s not like that. I’m not trying to impress someone,” Castiel replied, carefully avoiding the question.

“That’s not what I asked though. Is it a girl?” Gabriel asked, a smile had begun to tug at the corners of his mouth.

Castiel didn’t answer.

“Oh my god,” Gabriel exclaimed. “It is a boy? Do you have a boyfriend?”

Gabriel didn’t sound angry, in fact he sounded excited. No, Balthazar wasn’t Castiel’s boyfriend. Even thinking of the idea, made Castiel cringe. He always knew he wasn’t 100% straight, bisexual at least. But Balthazar, he was too good of a friend to ever have those thoughts run through Castiel’s mind.

“No, fuck, Gabriel,” Castiel said, cutting Gabriel off. “Balthazar is a friend.”

“So his name is Balthazar,” Gabriel cooed.

Castiel let out an annoyed huff of hair. “Fuck you.”

Gabriel laughed, hard. By now he was starting to get used to this new Castiel, even liked him a lot. But this, these dramatic changes, was an issue. Especially if Gabriel smelt what he thought he did.

After Gabriel composed himself, the two brothers sat in comfortable silence. Well Gabriel sat, Castiel still curled in a ball. Castiel didn’t mind it at all, in fact he felt at peace. For once his fingers didn’t twitch for the feel of a cigarette. He just wanted to be with Gabriel. But for Gabriel, the silence was killing him.

“Do you smoke,” Gabriel blurted out. It didn’t even sound like he was asking Castiel, more like a statement that needed to be addressed.

Castiel instantly tensed up. Shit, what gave him away? He didn’t have any cigarettes with him, he just finished a pack and threw away the box on his way home. Did his lighter fall out of his pocket? No, Castiel still felt that pressing into his right thigh where he had left it last.

Then it came to Castiel. It hit him like a ton of bricks. Castiel was glad his face was pressed against the couch because he’s certain his face had gone white. He still smelt of smoke, he hadn’t had time to shower before Gabriel had gotten home. Fuck, Gabriel probably smelt it all over him.

“Now Gabriel-” Castiel began before Gabriel cut him off with a sharp, “Oh my God.”

“Oh my God!” Gabriel repeated, as he sprung up from the couch and stood in front of Castiel.

“Castiel, do you know how bad those things are for you?” Gabriel asked rhetorically. Of course Castiel knew they were bad, everyone knew they were bad. “How long have you been smoking? A month, two months?”

Castiel swallowed the lump in his throat and mumbled, “Seven months.”

Really Gabriel wasn’t the scary brother, Michael was. Gabriel was the one person Castiel told everything to and trusted more than anyone else. He shouldn’t be dreading the lecture he was about to receive.  Though, that was probably why Gabriel was so intimidating now. He knew all Gabriel wanted was the best for him.

“Seven months!” Gabriel was practically in hysterics. At this point, Castiel couldn’t even bring himself to look at his brother.

“What could’ve led you into smoking? _You._ ” Gabriel sounded sad, defeated almost. Castiel peaked his head out from underneath his curled up ball position. He knew Gabriel didn’t mean that as an insult, more as a Castiel-was-a-good-kid-how-did-he-let-this-happen sense disbelief.

“Was it because of that boy? Bartholomew-”

“Balthazar,” Castiel quickly corrected.

“Balthazar,” Gabriel repeated. “Because I swear is he fucked my baby brother up-”

“Gabriel,” Castiel said, abruptly cutting him off. “Balthazar didn’t force me to do anything. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had. I tried smoking and I liked it, still do. But I’m not addicted, I swear. I only have a cigarette once and a while. I’m fine.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrow, still unconvinced. “And the other new changes?”

“All me,” Castiel reassured. “Gabe, please, I’m not some fragile little flower. I’m fine.”

Gabriel let out a defeated huff of air as he plopped down next to Castiel on the couch. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Castiel said firm.

“Well Cassie, guess there’s nothing else left, but for me to believe you.” Castiel smiled at his brother’s words and finally detangled his limbs from one another. “Now, I’m only here for the week, so let’s boogie!”

 

* * *

 

 

Up to this date, that was still one of Castiel’s favorite memories. Gabriel didn’t treat him any different, in fact he felt more comfortable with Castiel. They lounged around, actually cooked dinner, went out to movies, played old board games, just generally talked, and had a good time.

The whole week passed by without smoking one cigarette. In fact, smoking didn’t even pop up in Castiel’s mind. It was blissful. But then the week ended, Gabriel left after a quick goodbye, and, far too soon, Castiel found himself back with Balthazar two weeks before school started.

If anything Castiel’s smoking addiction got worse once school started. The rest of the Summer passed by faster than the first three months. Castiel and Balthazar did a lot of smoking those days. Castiel was anxious for school to start, he found the feeling of nicotine and the high it gave him, something relaxing to focus on.

Balthazar had more serious problems to be dealt with, hence why he smoked. Like, why he decided he wasn’t going to go to college and how his super religious parents felt about their only son not doing that. How he was going to support himself after senior year ended. His parents made it very clear he was not allowed to return home diplomaless.

But before either of them knew it, the first day of school was upon them. Castiel was actually excited when he walked to school the first morning. He loved school, loved learning, and for once he felt confident walking through Kripke High School’s doors.

The confidence didn’t last long. After the first week of school ended and the second started, debate posters were hung all around the school. They were bright posters, filled with three photos from the previous season. T

he first was a photo of the full team from last year. Castiel easily found himself dead center in the second row. The photo underneath it was of Castiel debating at the Nationals tournament. Castiel was shocked, he couldn’t believe they actually used that as a promotion. The third photo rest right next to the individual photo of Castiel in his suit. Again, this photo featured Castiel holding his octa finalist award, beaming at the camera. At the top of the poster in large font it read ‘ _Stay Classy Kripke High’_ , which Castiel found quite stupid and rather corny.

However that didn’t mean Castiel wasn’t going to see if he still had a spot on the team. He loved debate probably more than anything else. And he knew, with a little more practice and slightly improved cases, he could win this year.

That day after school Castiel attended the beginning of the new members meeting. Not because he had to learn the basics of what debate truly was, but because he needed to talk to Coach Turner. When Castiel walked into the room he noticed that there was quite a nice turn out. The majority of the students he didn’t know, but every few chairs he saw someone who used to be a friend.

“Hey, Coach,” Castiel said as he approached Rufus Turner’s desk. Rufus didn’t look any older than last time Castiel saw him.

Turner looked up and beamed at the familiar voice. Not too long after his eyes swiped over Castiel’s face, did his face fall blank. “Boy, is that you?”

Castiel squinted, confused. He wasn’t any different. “Uh, yeah. I came to ask if I’m still on the-”

Turner cut Castiel off with a harsh laugh. “Is this some kinda joke?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The piercings, boy. Are they fake or somethin’? And didn’t you have glasses? I’m sure you had glasses,” Turner said as he pondered for a second. “Well let me tell you, this is a good one.” Turner then got up from his chair, beaming once more.

“Oh,” Castiel gasped, the realization hitting him. Now he knew what Coach Turner meant, these changes. It’s been so long since he was bothered by the studs or had to remember to take his contacts out, Castiel completely forgot. “Uh, no, sir. This is all real and one hundred percent me.”

Turner gaped like a fish. This did not look good for Castiel. His heart was racing, he couldn’t be kicked off the team for this. No, it wasn’t fair! He could take out the piercings on Saturdays, he could wear his glasses.

“Boy,” Turner said in a much softer tone. “If this is all true, then I’m gonna have to ask you not to return this year.”

“What?” Now it was Castiel’s turn to stand there gasping for air. No, no, not again. Not another thing he fucked up. He always worked so hard in debate. So much harder than everyone else, he did not deserve to leave.

“Castiel, when you joined this team you knew our motto has to do with class. This,” he says gesturing to Castiel’s piercings, leather jacket, and skinny jeans. “Ain’t it.”

“But I can take the piercings out, and I wear a suit tournament days anyway,” Castiel defended. “Please, you can’t do this.”

“Son, I’m afraid I can. Nothin’ against you, you’re a great debater. However we’re finally on the map, I can’t afford to risk it now that you’ve decided to change your personality. Soon enough you’re gonna start hanging ‘round those kids around the back of the school. Don’t think we don’t know what they do.” Turner didn’t even sound sincere. He didn’t care about Castiel, no one on this team seemed to.

“I understand,” Castiel said with gritted teeth. “Good luck this year.” He forced a smile on his lips before Castiel stormed out of the classroom, planning never to return.

Instead of debate after school, Castiel found himself outside with “those kids ‘round the back of the school” because he liked Balthazar. He liked all the new friends he had in this group, they accepted him. They let him vent out his problems and offered him free cigarettes to cool his blood. It wasn’t healthy, not in the slightest, but Castiel didn’t care. It helped.

Castiel fell into a vicious cycle over the next two months. He would get up, skip breakfast, smoke a cigarette on the way to school, go through classes always thinking about after school as opposed to the lesson, eat half his lunch, and then smoke a number of cigarettes after school. To top it off, Castiel hardly tried in school anymore. He took minimal notes, crammed for tests an hour before, and only due to his intelligence, was he getting high B’s and low A’s. The only class he did try in was art.

Castiel didn’t understand why he even took the class in the first place. Oh right, a student needs a certain about of art credits to pass High School. Back when he picked it he thought it would be fun, easy almost. Upon attending the class, Castiel soon found it to be pointless, it didn’t even teach him anything. After a month of sitting in class the only thing Castiel learned was how mix colors effectively.

It wasn’t until the middle of the second month back into school did their teacher, Ms. Pamela Barnes, assign them their first real project.

“I want you all to paint a picture of any animal you want,” Ms. Barnes said from the front of the classroom. “You will be graded strictly on the colors you create and how realistic it fits with the animal.”

Castiel really did not want to do this assignment. Painting an animal, _in High School_ , fuck that seemed almost Elementary. But still, fail art class? That would probably be the saddest thing Castiel had ever done.

Castiel decided to paint a bumblebee. Originally he picked it due to the fact he thought painting an insect would be easy. A body, oval shaped wings, six legs, and paint on black and yellow stripes, easy. Plus, he liked bumblebees. But once he began his project and started to draw the outline, he was sadly mistaken.

This was probably the hardest thing Castiel had ever done. Castiel never realized how much detail a bumblebee possessed and how much of that would need to be added in order to look realistic. Using a photo for reference was the only thing that helped when drawing the sketch lines of the bumblebee.   The wings were the hardest part. Surprisingly, they were very particular. There had to be detail, but not too much, they weren’t like dragonfly wings, extravagant with many lines. Bumblebee wings were simple and elegant.

Lucky for him, Castiel loved a challenge. He threw himself into his artwork. He spent the hour in school working and not stopping for any outside factors. Constantly would he look back and forth between the photo on his phone and the canvas lain in front of him. Occasionally he even stayed after school to finish one more detail before heading home. Those were the days when he only had one cigarette, tops.

After two weeks of hard work, Castiel finally finished his bumblebee. It was probably the best painting he had ever completed. The detail was unlike anything he had even attempted before, and once he stepped back and looking at his animal as a whole, Castiel was proud. The yellows, blacks, grays, and blues were perfect shades. Starting light in certain places then along the way shading darker to create an effect. The black and yellow stripes were thick and not too clean. He was going for realism, out in the wild bumblebees’ stripes didn’t cut off perfectly, like they did in cartoon shows.

It wasn’t soon after that, that Castiel fell in love with art. Instead of his fingers itching to get a cigarette, his whole body was aching for third period when he could draw, or paint, or work with charcoal. Instead of smoking half a dozen cigarettes a day to feel good, Castiel only needed two or three, and a day in the art room. He soon found that the high from smoking, wasn’t as sensational as he remembered, boring almost. Castiel found that painting, doing something with his hands, made him just as happy as it did when he had a cigarette hanging between his teeth.

It wasn’t as though Castiel just stopped smoking altogether, addictions never worked like that. He just started to wean off smoking. Instead of skipping breakfast and walking to school smoking, Castiel would get up, make a healthy breakfast, and walk to school with some purpose. After he threw himself into his artwork, he carried that attitude back in the rest of classes. It only took a month for Castiel to have his life back on track.

All of his grades were raised to high, or mid, A’s. He fell back into a routine similar like the one he followed in Freshman year. He would stay after school until 4:30 with Balthazar and the rest of his friends. They would smoke out back behind school, talk, laugh, and all around have a good time. However instead of Castiel coming for the half a dozen smokes, he came for the laughs they shared and the occasional cigarette he would smoke.

Most of the time Castiel didn’t even smoke. He discovered a method that looked pretty identical, if you weren’t a smoker. Typically when Castiel brought the cigarette to his lips to smoke, he would inhale deep, long and smooth, all the way into his lungs. Instead he didn’t inhale, in fact after sucking the smoke in, Castiel just held in his mouth. That way in never once hit his lungs, and the nicotine never got in his system. After a realistic amount of time, Castiel would blow it out, much like he would when actually smoking.

By the looks of it, Castiel knew he wasn’t really smoking. For him, it was easy to tell by the way the smoke was expelled from his mouth. When he really smoked, he exhaled from the lungs, not from his mouth. He knew non-smokers wouldn’t be able to tell, he couldn’t even distinguish it before he met Balthazar. He didn’t know if his friends couldn’t tell the difference or didn’t really care. Castiel voted for the latter, and fuck it, he really didn’t care either way.

Castiel got _better._ So much better. Now, it’s been over two years since Castiel smoked a cigarette. According to his calendar, which Castiel added to each day he was sober, 733 days to be exact. Looking back on Freshman and Sophomore years, Castiel was pretty bad. He didn’t really care about anyone, anything, even himself. The cigarettes, although gave him a high feeling he valued, turned him into an ugly monster he never wanted to see again. He never knew how bad he was until now.

There were things Castiel was proud of that came out of that. Castiel was proud of his piercings, his tattoos, his better sense of fashion, his new found confidence, and, most importantly, getting rid of those damn prescription glasses. He was also proud of the new art skills he gained.

That was Castiel’s main trick for getting better. Whenever he was having a bad day, or something triggering popped up, he would paint. Sometimes it was of something he could focus on, other times it was extravagant thick lines that made him happy. It was proactive to see something he did, _he made_ , look so go without the assistance of anyone else.

Now, two years later, Castiel still loved to draw and paint. Right now his attention was on Lucifer, his completed archangel. Without a doubt, this was Castiel’s greatest artistic achievement. Lucifer was stunning, larger than life, exactly how Castiel originally intended for it to be.

His blond, slightly spiked up hair, was short and close to his head. It looked mainly well-kept and neat, only sticking up in a few places. His clothing, was hardly important to Castiel. The point was to make Lucifer’s vessel look ordinary, with the angel himself being admitting. Hence the burn like sores, the crossed arms, and the deathly glare. The sores were positioned all over the vessel’s face. Some were bigger than others, some had skin peeling off with it, and some looked like they were ready to bleed.

Castiel was very proud of the aspect he took on Lucifer. It was creative, original, fun to come up with. Even though the background was a bitch at first, Castiel couldn’t have been any more pleased with how it tied into the final product. It showed that Lucifer was merciless, cunning, and downright evil. The fire around his ankles could mean anything. He had just burnt someone alive, ten people, a village, the world. It was all up to the imagination. The smirk on Lucifer’s face also fed the fuels of imagination.

Whatever triggers Castiel was feeling a few minutes ago, washed away completely upon looking at his work. Work he had done, the majority of it by himself. This was his idea, and his plans that were put into action. It was perfect, and fuck Dean that he wasn’t here. Cas was just glad he got to relish this moment in peace. And if he couldn’t wipe a smile off his face for the rest of the day, he couldn’t care less. No one bothered him at school, and no one was home to bother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: As it turns out I am going on a short vacation ~~I thought it was a lot later than the 7th eep~~ and will not return until the 12th. I’ll have time to write over my vacation, but editing and posting seems a lot less likely. I’ll have time after I get home to really improve the rough draft, but at the earliest the chapter should be up is the 15th.  
>  Thanks for being so patient with me! :)


	6. Chapter 6

The next time Castiel saw Dean Winchester was a week later.  It’s not like Castiel was mad with Dean, oh no, he was downright pissed.  Originally he was rather mad, who tells someone one thing, promises it in fact, and then flakes out?  If Dean really cared about Castiel, at least as a friend, he would’ve been there the next day.

To add to the fact, that was over two weeks ago.  He hadn’t seen Dean since then, occasionally he would pass Winchester in the halls and they would exchange comebacks.  But besides that, Castiel hasn’t exchanged a proper word with Dean.

He didn’t know if hurt more because he believed Dean was truly his friend, or because he _liked_ Dean.  He really thought there was something greater than friendship between the two of them too.  Surely that almost kiss wasn’t just in his head?  He didn’t imagine Dean leaning in too, did he?

Castiel tried not to care, he really did.  But every time he got his mind off Dean, it somehow drifted back in some way.  It could be something as simple as watching TV.

For instance, last night he was watching a documentary on elephants and Castiel’s mind drifted off to the trainers volunteering to help the elephants.  Next his mind wandered to whether or not these kids got into good schools, or if they even went back to school.  Which led to him wondering if he had finished all his homework, which he had, after running through his classes.  Then it transitioned to debate and he wondered how the new novices were doing, and because Sam was a new novice Castiel had exchanged words with his mind finally settled on Dean.

He never cared about anyone this much where he couldn’t get his mind of them.  Sure Castiel cared about his brothers and Balthazar, but it didn’t take an excessive amount of energy to get them off his mind.  But with Dean it was different, all the walls Castiel had set up were demolished when it came to Dean.  Everything was upside down, flipped inside out; it hurt so bad.

When Castiel saw Dean it was, surprisingly, before school even started.  It did make sense, they couldn’t talk during school.  Too many questions, too many rumors, and more importantly, too awkward.

It was after AP Calculus ended, Castiel was walking out of class talking to Charlie.  After a few weeks of getting to know the energetic redhead, Castiel found out he actually liked her a lot.  She was interesting, intelligent, funny, and had a vast knowledge of basically everything Castiel liked.

That particular day Castiel and Charlie were discussing whether or not the new Thor movie looked good.  “I mean, c’mon the first one wasn’t even great,” Charlie exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

Castiel threw his head back and laughed.  “It was fucking horrible.”

“Don’t sugarcoat it, Novak.”

“I won’t,” Castiel cried.  “It was horrible, it doesn’t deserve my nice qualities.”

“You?  Nice qualities?”  Charlie asked playfully.

“Always, Bradbury, always,” Castiel replied with a wink.  “But back to pressing matter, Thor Two: Whether I Should See It or Not?”

Charlie snorted.  “I’ve heard rumors that a certain star spangled Avenger is making a cameo appearance.”

“Hmm, Chris Evans,” Castiel thought aloud.  “That’s definitely an added bonus.  Plus, Hemsworth isn’t sore on the eyes.”

Charlie hummed at that.

Castiel continued, “How they got Chris Evans, I’ll never know.”

“Probably promotion,” Charlie stated as they approached Castiel’s locker.

“Oh right, he has his own movie coming out this spring.  See now that I’m excited for,” Castiel exclaimed, leaning against the locker next to his.

“I know!  But the feels-” Charlie began until a tall, lanky, teenager appeared behind her.

Castiel peered over Charlie’s shoulder as Charlie turned around to face the kid as well. “Oh hey Sam,” Charlie greeted with a big smile plastered on her face.

“Hey Charlie,” Sam replied with a smile.  “Would you mind if I asked Castiel a question?”

“Of course kiddo!  This conversation,” Charlie said gesturing between herself and Castiel.  “Isn’t over.”

“Looking forward to it,” Castiel replied.

“Until tomorrow, Novak,” Charlie said with a wave.

She walked away soon after that leaving the younger Winchester with Castiel.  Sam looked nervously at Castiel while Castiel looked at Sam, waiting.

“So, Sam, what can I do for you?  Whatever you’ve heard about me hooking you up with drugs, that isn’t true,” Castiel said, trying to lighten the mood.

Sam laughed nervously.  “No, nothing like that,” he said with a calmer composure.  “I was actually wondering if you were free any time before this weekend to look over by debate cases.”

Castiel gaped at Sam.  It was obvious that the younger boy looked nervous asking Castiel this question.  He, himself, hadn’t touched a debate case in almost three years.  His skills were still locked away in his brain, but he didn’t want to mess Sam up due to the fact he was a little rusty.

Let’s see today’s Monday.  Castiel had a paper due tomorrow and an AP Bio test on Wednesday, so unless his teachers sprung a pop quiz on Thursday or Friday Cas was free.  That would also give him enough time to read articles on the current resolution to offer Sam that extra mile.

“Sure, Sam,” Castiel finally replied.  “When and where do you want?”

“Wait really?” Sam asked in disbelief.

“Yes, of course.”  Castiel smiled fondly.  “So, I’m free on Thursday or Friday if you want to go over stuff then?”

“Oh, yeah, uh, does Thursday work?  It’s just Friday’s the only day I don’t have debate practice and usually me and Dean catch a movie after school,” Sam rambled.

Castiel tensed at Dean’s name, but quickly contained his composure.  “’Course, Sam.  Also, would you mind if we just met back here?  I’d invite you to my house, but quite frankly I find that a little awkward.”

“No, yeah, that works great,” Sam exclaimed.  Now the younger boy calmed down enough that Castiel could tell this was how Sam acted around anyone else.

“Oh, one more thing,” Castiel added, quickly.  “What’s the resolution?”

“Uh hold on,” Sam said as he dug through his front pockets.  After a few seconds Sam plucked a piece of paper with decent handwriting on it.  “Uh, do the benefits of the NSA using domestic surveillance outweigh the harms?”

Damn that brought back a lot of memories.  Some of debate, some of writing his own cases, practicing rebuttal drills over and over, but the most vivid memory that Castiel had was of him and Balthazar in a smoky room.  They were sharing a cigarette back and forth when Balthazar made a dumb joke about the NSA.

Back in present days, Castiel laughed hard.  That was such a special memory that both he and his old friend shared.  Even today they would make jokes off that joke, and laugh about it like it was yesterday.  Sam looked very confused, and rather uncomfortable.

Castiel calmed himself to only a smile plastered on his face.  “No, Sam, I’m not laughing at you.  Just one time a very good friend made a joke about the inefficientness of the NSA.”

“Oh, I see,” Sam said twiddling his thumbs.  “Well Castiel, I really can’t thank you enough.  I’ll see you on Thursday, I gotta head to my locker before school starts, which happens to be on the other side of the school.”

With a small smile, Sam scurried off.  Castiel liked that kid.  Kind of reminded Castiel of himself, but had his own spunk and mindset that drew Castiel in.

Now that he was finally alone, Castiel faced his locker and dialed in the combo.  His mostly empty locker sprung open.  The only things inside his it were his school textbooks, two three subject notebooks, half a dozen pencils, a hoodie he always left in there in case his leather jacket was left at hime, and a photo of Gabriel, Michael, and himself taped to the side.

Castiel bent down to dig his AP Biology textbook from the bottom of the mix. Then he reached up to fish out the correct notebook and a pencil.  Four years he had been going to this school and he still didn’t understand how people went to their lockers every hour to grab stuff.  He just stuffed the notebooks for the first half of the day in his messenger bag now, and then the other half after lunch.  Simple.

Right as Castiel stood up and was about to shut his locker, he heard a deep voice sound from behind him.  “Cute family, Slowvak.”

Castiel instantly tensed up.  Shit he knew that voice.  Had known it for four years and would, most likely, never forget it.  Slowly, he turned around and sure enough, there he was.  Dean Winchester, and wow, wasn’t he a sight for sore eyes.

Despite everything else, he looked great.  Dean had an easy smile on his face as he leaned up against Castiel’s locker.  He was wearing a plain red t-shirt, no Letterman Jacket, and warn in jeans.  He looked so simple, so real, not the fake image Dean had been given.  But no, Castiel wouldn’t give in because Dean _looked_ good.  Unless he was here to apologize, Castiel wanted nothing to do with him.

“Dean,” he said coldly.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, unaffected by Cas’ harsh tone.  “So, who’s that in the photo?”

“Oh,” Castiel responded, looking at the small photo he taped up every year.  That photo was taken close to five years ago.  It was one of the only family vacations they had taken.  Castiel’s parents weren’t even involved.  Michael planned everything and Gabriel had flown back to Kansas to fly with Castiel.  At the time Castiel was 13, Gabriel 21, and Michael 23.

The two younger Novaks met Michael in New York to spend two weeks as a family.  There they met Michael’s current girlfriend, Anna, did a lot of touristy stuff, and even went to a baseball game.  It was a memorable trip for Castiel due to the fact it was just him, Michael, and Gabriel.  Most of the trip Gabriel spent the majority of his time making fun of the people actually their on a vacation, enjoying the tourist attractions.

Cruel or not, it was hilarious.  That particular photo was taken by Anna when the three brothers were laughing at a Chinese couple who thought the Statue of Liberty was the Sears Tower.  Castiel didn’t even know that photo had been taken until a week after their trip when Anna sent it to him.  Their heads were all thrown back, laughing.  Michaels’ arm was wrapped around Castiel’s shoulders, while his glasses slid slightly down his nose.  Gabriel was a few feet away mimicking the couple best he could.

Castiel loved that photo and he always smiled when he looked at it.  Even now.  He didn’t know why he kept that photo in his locker.  It was a pretty easy thing to get made fun of.  He supposed it made him happy.  Nowadays he hardly saw Michael or Gabriel.  Frequently he would text Gabriel, and more often than not get a stupid photo of his older brother, but he hadn’t talked to Michael since school started.

They were both busy.  Michael had his own job to worry about, and now he was getting married.  With his engagement in about a year, Michael was trying to make enough money in order to buy a house for him and the new Mrs.  And Castiel would never admit it, but the beginning of the year was always tough for him.

“Cas?”

Oh, right, Dean.  He had asked him a question about his family.  Castiel shook his head, snapping him back to reality.  “Oh, right, my apologies.”  Dean shrugged his shoulders, waiting for an answer.  “That’s a family photo.  On the far right that’s Gabriel, my older-younger brother.  Then the closest one to him is Michael, my older-older brother, his arm happens to be wrapped around yours truly.”

Dean’s eyes widened, shocked.  “That’s- that’s _you_?”

“I know, hardly recognizable with the glasses.” Castiel smiled, the corners of his lips curling ever so slightly.

“No, it’s not that it’s just you look, um, what’s the word,” Dean mused.

“Dorky, awkward, funny looking, any of those working?”  Castiel offered.

“No, I was thinking more off the line of adorable,” Dean said softly.

“Ha, ha, ha,” Castiel stuttered out, trying to cover up the blush heating his cheeks.

_It was a shame Dean was such a dick_ , Castiel thought, _because he sure looked great like this.  Trying to flirt, leaned up against my locker like he owned the place._

Dean cleared his throat.  “Anyway, I wanted to ask you about Lucifer.  Because I was going to stop down there after school and help you.  You’re still down there, right?  Like, there’s no way you finished yet.”

As soon as Castiel’s smile dropped it was replaced with white hot anger.  It had almost two weeks since they had talked.  Even after all the time they spent together, Dean still acted like a dick.  Castiel was sure Dean had acted real down in the basement, Castiel knew he wasn’t putting on a show.  Yet here he was, acting like all the stories and all the rumors suggested.  That Dean Winchester acted like everything revolved around him.  He truly believed Castiel couldn’t finish something as simple as painting hair without his help.

“Excuse me?”  Castiel spat out.

Dean was taken back at the harsh tone Castiel offered.  “I didn’t mean it like that.  I meant it like you were struggling and I didn’t think you’d finish yet.  I mean-”

“Save your breath, Winchester.  I finished last week and turned it in,” Castiel said, just as much venom in his voice as before.

Dean was still leaning against Castiel’s locker.  Castiel could tell most of his confidence had washed away, yet he still hadn’t budged.

“Well then maybe we could hang out some other time?  Like after a school?  We could catch a movie, or have you been to the Roadhouse across town?  Amazing burgers and even better pie-”

And fuck, everything sounded too good to be true.  From Dean’s pink cheeks, to his stuttering sentences.  Castiel really thought that Dean was trying to ask him something more important than just hanging out as friends.  But then Castiel remembered these past few weeks.  How lonely he felt in the basement, how betrayed he felt at first, even now, how led on he felt.  He already made his own conclusions about Dean Winchester, he couldn’t risk it any longer.

“Dean,” Castiel said, cutting him off abruptly.  “You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

“What?”

Castiel continued, “Look, I know you don’t really want to be my friend.  That’s why you didn’t come back to the art room, right?  That kiss-thing, that was awkward.  Real friends would’ve talked it out.  We’re two completely different people, I didn’t think it was going to last anyway.”

“Cas, now you’re just acting ridiculous.  I’m not trying to-”

“Dean,” Castiel growled.  “Don’t you get it?  I don’t need you, you can go.  Take the hint and leave me alone.”

“Cas, I’m trying to ask you something here,” Dean hissed.  “Can you stop acting like your pretentious self for two seconds?”

“Wow, Winchester, that’s a really big word.  Know what it means?”  Castiel asked, his classic Novak sarcasm dripping into every word.

“You know what, forget it.”  Dean effortlessly shifted his weight from his elbows back to his feet.  Before Castiel knew it Dean had moved from a lazy position on his locker, to a sharp position in the middle of the hallway.  “You know what, fuck you, Novak.  I can’t believe I thought you were different.”

“Different than what?  Different than you?”  Castiel huffed, “Because I am, I’m not an asshole who toys with people’s emotions.”

“Forget everything I told you in the art room. I’m done,” Dean practically yelled.

“Done what?  Pretending?  Is this a confession, Winchester?  Because I’ve had my suspicions all along.”  Even as Castiel heard the words fly out of his mouth, they hurt.  Up to this point he still had a sliver of hope that he was wrong.  Now he knew, that Dean Winchester was nothing but the charming, self-centered, rough and tough, dick Castiel believed him to be.

Dean huffed out a harsh laugh.  By this time, Castiel noticed they attracted a small crowd.  School started in less than ten minutes, and it had been a while since Dean and Castiel had a verbal fight.  When Castiel believed them to be friends he tried to stay out of Dean’s way as much as possible.  Dean appeared to have the same idea as they hardly ever ran into each other.  Even on the occasional time that they did, secret smiles and winks were always shared.

“Well look at that, Novak.  You’re smarter than I believed you to be, you figured something out.”  Dean scanned the crowd and gestured for everyone to look at Castiel.  “Look, he doesn’t have the brain the size of a peanut like we all suspected.”

“You think you’re so clever don’t you?”

“No babe, I _know_ I am.”  Dean winked at Castiel.  Not secretive wink, but a cocky wink, like he owned the school.

“Listen to me, Dean Winchester,” Castiel threatened as he invaded Dean’s personal space.  “Need I remind you, you came to me and to my locker.  If you think for one second you are winning, you are mistaken.  The fact that you feel so low that you need to attack me before school, is just pathetic.  Leave me alone and don’t disrupt me at my locker again.  I won’t ask twice.”

Dean held his ground after Castiel’s threat.  He scanned the crowd once more, before backing up, regaining his space.  “Fine,” Dean gritted through his teeth.  “But don’t expect your first victory to last long.”

Dean whipped away soon after that.  He stalked off, a few of his teammates trailing close him.  Once one of the ringleaders moved away, so did the crowd.  Everyone knew better than to push either of them back over the edge.  One by one people began to disappear until it was just Castiel, Meg, and Ruby left at his locker.

Castiel was still furious by the time the bell rang, signaling class would begin in six minutes.  Ruby put her hand lightly on Castiel’s shoulder while she uttered the words, “Good to have you back, Castiel.”

Meg nodded alongside the other girl.  “We hope to see you behind the school later today,” she added.

“Ladies,” Castiel said with a fake smile plastered on his face.  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel would never admit it, but sometimes he really hated going out back behind the school to “smoke”.  The thing was even after Balthazar graduated, and Castiel became the new ring leader, he still never smoked.  After two years, he still pretended to smoke using the suck and hold method.  Castiel knew that he could easily come clean and no one would give a flying fuck, but it was comforting.  Knowing he had enough restraint, enough self-control, to only hold the smoke in his mouth.

He always felt this way around the beginning of the year.  There were times when Castiel would study the cigarette in-between his fingers and wonder if this would help.  Would this take away pain?  Would this calm everything down just for the moment?  He knew he would regret, a little over two years sober is something to brag about, but sometimes it was too tempting.

At the beginning of the year, his new teachers always expected the most from their students.  They always pushed them at first to see how fast they could learn.  It probably didn’t help that the material was new, and vastly more difficult than the normal grade was learning.  Too add on top of that, the debate team was everywhere.  Ever since Castiel got kicked out, they became big.  Posters were plastered all over the school, announcements were made every Monday on how the team did the previous weekend, and more kids had joined.  They were up to 50 now, as opposed to the 12 four years ago.  It hurt that Castiel knew he could never be a part of it again.

This was always the season where Castiel urged himself to stay strong.  More than once a week he always felt the urge to relapse.  It would be so easy to smoke a cigarette, to feel the relief of the nicotine, bring him to a state of calmness nothing else could provide him.  To hang around his friends, not give a shit what they were saying, and just smoke.

But every time, something stopped him.  His progress was tremendous, just the fact he could get sober made him feel better about himself.  He never wanted to go back to the person he once was.  Then there was art, painting, sketching, using his hands.  He loved it, more often than not that’s what brought him back down.  He was so thankful that, for the past three years, art had been during his first semester.  Castiel wouldn’t know where he would be without it.  It calmed his nerves in a way he could never explain.

But now Castiel had finished his painting of Lucifer.  There was no reason to stay behind in the art room and work on a project.  Mainly because the final semester’s project wouldn’t be announced until next week, after all the angels were turned in.  The option of going home, finishing his homework, and even sketching at home still hung in the air.  Not that it was considered for very long, after all Castiel had a reputation to uphold.

That left him with the only option of hanging around behind school that day.  Castiel didn’t mind it, he still enjoyed the chats, and more often than not the texts he and Balthazar would exchange.  Even after he left Castiel never lost touch with him.  How could he?  Balthazar still worked at _Heaven and Hell’s_ but now a co-owner.

With steady fingers Castiel lit the cigarette in his hand.  Effortlessly he slid it in-between his fingers and raised it to his mouth.  Castiel sucked in the smoke and held it in his mouth.  Every time he did this he wondered if anyone noticed how fake it was.  With a nonphysical shrug, Castiel blew out the smoke.

He was leaning against the school, back up against the brick wall.  His leg was propped up with his foot placed against the wall, he used his leg as an additional support much like he was leaning on a crutch.  After he full exhaled, Castiel felt someone slide up next to him.

_Meg_ , he thought.  Over the Summer Meg had completely changed her look.  She went from long, wavy, chestnut colored hair to scratchy, long, blonde hair.  There were even reddish-pink highlights towards the bottom tips of her hair.  Honestly, Castiel didn’t know how she always had time to change her hair. Just last year she went from a bob of blonde hair, to the chestnut hair.

“So, Clearance,” Meg breathed out while exhaling her own drag.  “I think we’re all wondering what that little stunt was before school.”

Castiel scoffed.  Just a month ago this would be normal behavior between the two of them.  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Masters.”

“Oh c’mon, Novak,” Uriel offered.  “You can’t be that thick.”

Castiel glared at the new voice, still not quite understanding.

Meg’s voice ran in Castiel’s ears again, “I mean, I thought you and Winchester duked out your problems, resolved everything.”

Castiel was shocked.  He obviously hadn’t told anybody about the art room, no one even knew Castiel painted.  The confused boy was about to open his mouth to protest until a new voice spoke up.

“We want to know if you and Winchester resolved the sexual tension by fucking,” Ruby deadpanned.  Numerous others throughout the group seemed to nod and agree with that.  Castiel, himself, was shocked.

“ _What?_ ”

“You know even hate sex would work at this point,” Meg added.

“What? No! Fuck,” Castiel breathed out, annoyed.  Sure there have been times when Castiel had thought about the idea, and he wasn’t going to deny himself the simple fact he found Dean attractive.  But this, this was ridiculous.  “I’m not having sex with Dean Winchester.”

“Then what the Hell was that argument today?”  A new voice, Alistair, asked.

Ruby smirked, exhaling a drag of her cigarette.  “Sure looked like a lover’s spat to me.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Castiel groaned.  It seemed like they frequently gossiped about this shit too.  “I’m only saying this once, Dean Winchester approached me at my locker.  I was packing up my bag when he leaned up against it.  Honestly that aggravated me enough and we started yelling at each other.”

That pretty much shut everyone up.  Everyone except Meg.  “So what you’re saying, is that you two haven’t fucked yet?”

 

* * *

 

 

The end of the week could not have come fast enough for Castiel.  Of course Dean had to come up to Castiel on a Monday morning.  This left the school with the whole rest of the week to come up with rumors why their fight had even begun.  He sincerely hoped Dean was in a worse Hell than he was.  Castiel seriously doubted it because the feeling of relapsing felt stronger each day, but at least he could dream.

His favorite rumors were the ones closest to the truth.  He loved the ones where it suggested Dean had come early to Castiel’s locker to leave a love letter, or try and run into him, and try to ask him out.  Those made Castiel laugh.  No one was ever going to know why Dean was there, so why not have a little fun with it in the meantime.

True to his word, Sam met Castiel at his locker on Thursday afternoon.  It only took a minute to locate an empty classroom, and two hours for them to cover all the stuff Castiel prepared with.  After reading Sam’s initial case, Castiel was impressed.  He could tell the kid had a real gift and would make a great debater.

“Sam,” Castiel said as he placed his case back on the table.  “Do you know what you want to be when you grow up?”

Sam looked a little surprised that the older boy asked him the question.  Castiel just cocked his head, waiting for an answer.  “I’d like to be a lawyer,” he finally replied.

Castiel considered that and nodded.  “You would make a great lawyer.  I love what you said about the NSA not only contributing to warfare intelligence, but also to the research and stop of illegal transactions.  I do wish you talked a little less on drugs, a little more on child pornography.  Only for the reason there’s much more counter arguments on drugs than porn…”

Sam absorbed everything Castiel was saying much like a sponge would.  If Castiel was being completely honest with himself, he loved the time he spent with Sam.  Sam was incredibly bright and wasn’t afraid to ask questions.  He also wasn’t afraid to get up in Castiel’s face during a shot cross examination drill.

Castiel knew that with a little more practice, Sam would far surpass his time on the debate team.  And for once, Castiel felt weirdly okay with that.  Maybe it had to do with the fact that he was helping Sam start off.  Lord knows Castiel did a lot of extra work his debate coach had no part in during his Freshman year.

At the end of their little session, the two boys began to talk more casually.  Castiel had passed over the documents he had printed off over to Sam, while the younger boy packed up his computer.  After the room was put back the way it originally started, Sam and Castiel began to make their way to the entrance of the school.

“Hey, Castiel?”

“Yes, Sam?”

“Can I ask you something rather personal?”  Sam asked hesitantly.  “About Dean?”

Castiel instantly tensed up.  He seriously didn’t know what his deal was.  Nowadays all someone needed to do was mention Dean’s name and he turned into putty.

“I suppose, sure,” Castiel replied slowly.

“How do you feel about Dean,” Sam blurted out.  He said it so abrupt that it hardly seemed like a question.

“Sam…”  Castiel really didn’t know what to say.  He just decided to go with the first thing that came to mind, “It’s, uh, it’s complicated.”

“Oh,” Sam replied.  “Because there’s all these rumors floating around some of them that you two, are, you know, an item.  And on Monday when I asked you for help, we were really there because Dean said he wanted to ask you something and I just thought he had asked you out.”

Castiel stopped in the middle of the hallway, dumbstruck.  The fact that this kid, this Freshman, was so open minded and accepting blew Castiel’s mind.  God knows his parents aren’t half as acceptive as Sam Winchester is.  He just continued to stare at Sam, in a stupid awe.

After a few seconds Castiel collected himself and quickened his pace to walk in time with the younger Winchester.  “Look, Sam, I think Dean was trying to ask me out, but I’m not quite sure.  There was a lot of stuttering, and awkward conversation, and we ended up having reality smack us in the face.”

“But would you?”  Sam asked, all bright eyed and innocent.

“Would I what?”

“Go on a date with Dean?”

Castiel contemplated that for a second.  In a perfect world, yes.  Without a doubt.  If Dean acted the way he did around Cas and around Sam, then there would be no question.  However in reality, no.  They were two completely different people.  It could never work.

“Sam,” he began.  “I’m going to put this in as simple terms as possible.  I wouldn’t date Dean Winchester even if my life depended on it.”

Sam looked down at the ground.  He looked disappointed in Castiel’s answer for reasons he couldn’t figure out.  It’s not like Sam was asking about himself either.

“I can understand why you’re curious.  Walking in on your brother and some punkass kid about to kiss is a little odd.”  Castiel stopped briefly to chuckle.  “I’m sorry if we personally scarred you for life.”

Sam shrugged.  “You didn’t scar me.  I’ve known for a while that Dean is bi.  I was more surprised that his hands were messy and wrapped around someone I didn’t know.”

Again it was Castiel’s time to stare at Sam in pure amazement.  He was incredible.  Sam hardly seemed bothered by anything, in fact he seemed more curious as to why they weren’t together already.  

_Wait, did he just say Dean Winchester is bisexual?_

Not that it changed anything.

Not one bit.

Castiel still wasn’t going to magically forgive Dean.  They weren’t going to skipping off into the sunset.  It really did not matter who Dean liked, sexuality wise.

Castiel blinked at Sam, processing the information.  “Oh,” he replied, his mouth forming an O shape.  Finally, “I didn’t know that.”

“You didn’t?”  Sam sounded a little surprised.  “Oh, I thought you knew.  Dean told me he really liked you, I thought he would’ve said something.”

“Um,” Castiel stuttered.  Really, this was too much for him.  “No, he didn’t.”

Sam pondered that for a moment.  “I see.  Well just don’t tell Dean I told you, alright?”

“Yes, of course, Sam.”

Castiel and Sam proceeded to walk in silence until the exited the front doors.  Waiting by the front curb was a big, black, sleek, vintage 1967 Chevy Impala.  Castiel knew that was Dean’s car, he talked about it all the time.  Not just in the hallways but in the art room too.  Castiel vividly remembered Dean telling him how his father taught him how to drive in that car and when he received it as a birthday present for his 16th birthday, he was shocked.

“For what it’s worth,” Sam whispered as he approached the car.  “I wouldn’t mind.  You’re cool and Dean’s a jerk.”

Castiel snorted.  Instead he decided to change the subject as they were basically in earshot of the car.  “So, does next week work for you?”

“Same time, same place?”  Castiel nodded.  “Yeah, sounds great,” Sam exclaimed.  He slid into the passenger seat of the car and waved.

“Slowvak,” The driver growled.  And of course, _of course_ , Dean had to comment.

“Losechester,” Castiel sneered.

“How did it go, Sammy?”  Dean asked, his voice instantly going softer when talking to his little brother.  “I really hope you didn’t corrupt my baby brother with your gay beliefs,” Dean said, somewhat disgusted.

Castiel snapped his head from his focus on a nearby tree to Dean’s face.  He wanted to murder Mr. Hot-Shot Winchester.  It especially didn’t help that Sam had told Castiel Dean wasn’t straight.  This was all an act, they both knew it. Castiel decided to play along and beat Dean at his own game.  His lips curled up as he smirked.  “Oh, sweetheart, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dean scoffed at Castiel.  Castiel only responded with a wink before turning back to Sam.  His smirk faded into a small smile.  “I’ll see you later, Sam.”

“Bye, Castiel.”

“Goodbye, Sam.”

Castiel didn’t see the Impala drive off into the distance, but he did hear the roar of the engine when she started.  Instead Castiel turned on his heel and stalked off in the other direction.  Fuck did he really need a smoke.  And wasn’t that a funny thought?  It had been over two and a half years since Castiel thought those things.

If Castiel thought the beginning of his week was hard, he was in no way prepared for what Friday had in store.  Already Castiel could tell it was going to be a bad day.  He was basically running on just about 4 hours of sleep.  Every thought from the previous day ran through his mind, keeping him up way past anytime he was usually up.  So come Friday morning Castiel was exhausted, annoyed, and quite frankly, really craving some caffeine.

His first four classes went by easy enough.  It was a Friday and they were seniors, the teachers weren’t very strict those days.  Plus, Castiel was lucky to have a free period early in the morning.  It was really easy to sneak out of school, grab a quick cup of coffee, and to slip back in the school undetected.

Now approaching lunch Castiel was feeling a little better, a little more awake.  With Meg and Ruby at his sides, Castiel entered the lunchroom.  It was very big, very open, and more often than not seniors left to eat at the fast food joints near the school, so it was never too full.  As much as Castiel would love to leave this Hell Hole, he couldn’t.  He actually didn’t have a car, which made getting to places a lot more difficult.

At his sides, Meg and Ruby were talking about some party they wanted to attend that weekend.  Some college guy, whose name Castiel thought was Luke, invited Meg to the party and urged her to bring as many guests as she wanted.  Technically Castiel had been invited, but he really didn’t want to go.  College kids with alcohol, weed, and cigarettes was never a good idea. And did Castiel mention college guys were extremely attractive?

Lost in his thoughts, and the words Ruby and Meg exchanged, Castiel hardly noticed when a tall figure walked right into his path.  With a thud both bodies collided and quickly backed up.  Castiel opened his mouth to tell who ever it was to watch where he was going until his eyes landed on the person.

Of course, of fucking course.  It had to be Dean Winchester.  It was so cliché running into the school jock in the lunch room, almost spilling each other’s lunch trays.  Castiel decided fate was always so cruel when it came to these things.

Dean was the first one to say something.  “Slowvak,” he growled.  “You can’t even watch where you’re fucking going, can you?”

Castiel snorted.  “Oh, no, I was.  Didn’t even see you as I only pay attention to people who are worth my time.”

Dean scoffed.  “You really are full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“You know it, sweetheart,” Castiel replied with a wink.  That got a laugh out of both Meg and Ruby, including a few people who were listening close by.

“Just say you’re sorry and we can both leave before this gets ugly,” Dean demanded.

Castiel snorted.  “Winchester, the only thing I will be doing is asking you to step three feet to your left, so I may pass.”

“You have working feet, use them,” Dean snapped.

Castiel glared at Dean.  He was exhausted, and hungry, and would walk around Dean any other time but right now.  No way would he let Dean win after the week he’s been put through.  “I will, once a particular asshole moves out of the way.”

“The only asshole here is you.”

“Really?  That’s your comeback?”

“It’s not a comeback, it’s a pure fact.”

Castiel groaned into the air above him.  By now he noticed they had attracted quite a decent crowd around them.  As well as Ruby and Meg at his sides, Castiel had Uriel, Alistair, Tessa, and Azazel standing close behind him.  On the other end Dean stood tall and mighty with his clique behind him.  Jo, Ash, Charlie, Dorothy, Benny, and even Adam seemed to be close by.

“We’re talking pure facts?”  Castiel smirked.   _This was going to be fun._ “Because I know for a pure fact that you’re a closeted nerd.”

Laughter erupted from all around the two ring leaders.  Castiel smiled victoriously, winking at Dean once more.  Castiel noticed Dean had balled up his fists.

“At least I’m not a faggot,” Dean sneered.

Castiel faked yawned.  “Please, that’s old news, Winchester.  Don’t try and compensate for your sexuality problems by shoving them on me.”

Louder laugher echoed through the lunch hall.  Castiel could tell Dean was getting angrier by the second.  His face was flushed, his fists were turning white, and the crowd really seemed to affect him.

“You’re so- so- so-” Dean stuttered.

Castiel chuckled and decided to offer Dean some words to fill in the blank.  “Awesome, amazing, a joy to be around,” he suggested.  “I didn’t know you were so sweet, Winchester.”

“Insurable,” Dean lashed out.  “Pig-headed, obnoxious, idiotic!”

Castiel smiled to himself.  “Oh, sweetheart.  If only that last one is true,” he said calmly.  “You know what Dean, one day, very soon, High School will end.  And for some of us, we’ll being to college.  Some of us have the mentality to live on our own, and the intelligence to pass a semester.

But you?  You won’t even let me pass this hallway.  Which is kind of pathetic.  I feel sorry for you that you’re going to stay in Lawrence for the rest of your life.  But then again, I’m not.  Because bad things do happen to bad people once in a while.”

Dean gaped at Castiel.  Charlie gaped at Castiel.  Meg gaped at Castiel.  Castiel was pretty sure the whole school was staring at him, shocked.

“You know what Castiel, don’t feel sorry for me,” Dean started, as calm as Castiel finished.  “Feel sorry for yourself.  You’ll never know what it’s like to have parents who care about you, and brothers who enjoy your company, and the feel of self-acceptance.  Because you’re a mistake.  You know it, your parents know it, hence why you never see them, and now the whole school knows it.”

Castiel’s smug smile instantly wiped off his face when Dean uttered those words.   _Because you’re a mistake._ Instead Castiel’s lips parted, not quite sure what to fire back.  Suddenly he felt trapped.  Like he was stuck in a black hole, or a drifter in open sea.  He felt lost, and no matter what direction he looked, that’s always where he was going to be.  Stuck.

Old emotions and memories smacked Castiel right in the face.  Michael flashed before his eyes, then Gabriel, then Michael again.  He heard Michael’s original words run through his ears, over and over.  Dean’s new words, _because you’re a mistake_ , chanting after Michael’s.

Castiel wasn’t even aware of what he was doing until he felt his back press up against someone in the crowd.  His eyes scanned all around him and he realized that a lot of his peers were laughing.  He was breathing heavy, trying to calm down, but he couldn’t.  Then his eyes shifted towards Dean.  Dean who stood there like he was fucking king of the world.

He fucking hated that bastard.  He told Dean almost everything about his life.  He trusted him.  Castiel trusted Dean with the biggest secret, the biggest doubt he ever felt.  And he just blurted it out to the whole school like it was his to tell.  The nerve of that douche bag.

Castiel swallowed the growing lump in his throat down, and pretended his eyes didn’t sting.  With a fake, cocky, smile plastered on his lips he spoke directly to Dean.  “I hope you fucking burn in Hell, Winchester.”

The whole crowd stopped.  No one was laughing.  This wasn’t a joke, this was real.  Both Dean and Castiel knew that too, now the realization seemed to sink in with the others.   Dean’s smile wavered.  “Then I guess I’ll be seeing you there with me,” he replied smoothly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it another way,” Castiel sneered as he broke his way through the crowd.

His throat burned, his eyes stung, his lips quivered.  Castiel didn’t even know where he was, but he knew the instant his eyesight came back into focus.  This was the spot that he ran into Balthazar, all those years ago.

It was probably pure impulse that his brain directed his footsteps to this exact place.  With shaky legs, Castiel sat down.  His back leaned up against the brick wall.  It didn’t take much time until more memories flashed in front of his eyes.

He couldn’t take it anymore.  Michael was everywhere, Dean following right behind him.  Whatever awful memory Castiel thought of, the one right after was far worse and far more current.  With unsteady hands, Castiel reached into his leather jacket inside pocket.  There he kept an old cigarette box and his lighter.  Slowly Castiel brought them out and cradled them in his hands.

It would be so easy to take a cigarette and light it.  He knew this is what the cigarette was for, relief.  That’s what it gave him the first time, he knows it would offer it again.  A little more determined Castiel slid a cigarette out of its case and rolled it between his fingers.

He had never wanted to do anything more in his life.  These thoughts, these memories, they were too much.  He couldn’t live like this.  He knew it was bad, but _so what._ It would _help_.  That’s exactly what Castiel needed at a time like this.

Now, completely certain of his choices, Castiel raised the cigarette to his lips.  He brought the lighter up the cigarette and flicked it on.  However instead of faking, instead of sucking and holding the smoke in his mouth Castiel fully inhaled.  He sucked long and hard, probably taking the longest drag of his life.

In the back of his mind Castiel knew this was bad.   _But fuck it_.  He couldn’t take it anymore.  He needed something, anything.  He just happened to have a pack of cigarettes and an idea of what the rush felt like.  In just under an hour Castiel was feeling high and giddy.

Honestly, he couldn’t even remember why he quit in the first place.


End file.
